THE  TURN  OF  THE   SWORD 


the 

TURN 

of  the 

SWORD 

Ay    t 

CHaclmn  Savage 

Chicago 

EGJftrownc&G 


The  "Turn 

of 
The  Sword 

BY 

C.    MACLEAN    SAVAGE 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  IN  COLORS  AND 
DECORATIONS  BY  THE  KINNEYS 


CHICAGO 

F.  G.  BROWNE  &  CO. 
1913 


COPYRIGHT,     1913 
BY    F.     G.     BROWNE     &    CO. 

Copyright,  1912 
By  Frank  A.  Munsey  Co. 


All  rights  reserved 
Copyright  in  England 


PUBLISHED,  FEBRUARY, 


THE     PLIMPTON 'PRESS 

[ W. D -O] 
NORWOOD.MASS'U'S'A 


To 

T.  N.  M. 

WHO   MADE   THIS     STORY    POSSIBLE 


2138146 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    A  BLOW  WITH  A  SWORD 3 

II.    A  FORTRESS  IN  THE  FOREST.     ...  18 

III.  A  DENTED  HELMET  OF  BRONZE      .     .  24 

IV.  THE  MARK  OF  THE  BLACK  BOAR'S  SWORD  39 
V.    A  BRAZEN  RING  UNDER  THE   MATTING  54 

VI.    A  ZIGZAG  PATH  UP  THE  MOUNTAINSIDE  65 

VII.     BROKEN  FINGERS   .     ...     .     .     .  75 

VIII.    A  HALTED  VERSE  IN  A  POEM    ...  84 
IX.    YELLOW    LIGHT    THROUGH    THE    SHOJI 

WALLS .  97 

X.    THE  WISH  FOR  THE  SECOND  SWORD     .  no 

XI.    THE  SIGHT  OF  AN  UGLY  FACE   .     .     .  127 

XII.     BLACK  ARMOR  SEEN  IN  THE  SUNSET    .  136 

XIII.  A  ROLLING  STONE  OF  HATE       .     .     .  157 

XIV.  A  BROKEN  SWORD  IN  THE  FOREST  .     .  170 
XV.    A  LISTENING  EAR  BEHIND  A  SCREEN   .  189 

XVI.    A  KIMONO  OF  WHITE  ON  A  MAIDEN    .  198 
XVII.    Two  RICE   PLANTS  TORN  UP  BY  THE 

ROOTS   .........  210 

XVIII.    A  DESERTED  SHOJI  UPON  THE  MARSH  224 

XIX.    A  HEAP  OF  BLACKENED  ASHES  .     .     .  237 

XX.    THE  KNIGHTS  OF  THE  PURPLE  LOTUS  .  250 

XXI.    THE  SHADOW  OF  A  PINE-TREE  .  261 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXII.  THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR    . 

XXIII.  LIKE  BLACK  ANTS  AND  BROWN 

XXIV.  A  CRAWLING  THING  IN  THE  GRASS 
XXV.  THE  RUSTLING  REEDS  OF  PURSUIT. 

XXVI.     A  BLOW  WITH  THE  SAME  SWORD     . 
XXVII.     RED  RIVER  AND  MOUNTAIN  OF  PINES. 
XXVIII.    AN   HONORABLE    CEREMONY   OF  MAR- 
RIAGE     

XXIX.     A  TEAR  UPON  A  PAINTED  SAUCER  . 
XXX.     WHAT  SAID  THE    TAPPER    OF    LAQUER 
TREES 


PAGE 

273 
281 
291 

305 
312 

327 


356 
366 


kapterl 
Blow-ith 


THE  high  and   sacred   sun   beat  down  upon 
the  fields  and  streams  of  old  Japan.     The 
banners  of    the  house  of   the  Red  River 
blazed  in  the  breeze;   scantily  clad  servants  filled 
the  palace  yard  with  color  and  noise;    kites   and 
flags  and  lanterns  danced  on  their  strings. 

In  the  royal  gardens  they  were  putting  the  finish- 
ing touches  on  the  pavilions,  with  the  hurried  sound 
of  hammering  and  chopping,  the  rustle  of  rich  tex- 
tures, the  ring  of  metals  and  china,  and  the  low 
murmurs  of  the  artisans. 

Out  in  the  countryside,  where  the  temple  bells 
tinkled  in  the  cedar  groves  and  the  willows  drooped 
over  reeded  pools,  there  was  great  bustling  on  the 
narrow  brown  roads,  and  the  dust  flew  high  from 
the  pattering  of  bare  feet.  Through  the  dust  the 
sun  flashed  on  purple,  red,  and  yellow  silk. 


4        THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

All  —  naked  coolie,  silk-swathed  noble,  palanquin 
bearer,  or  princess  —  hastened  toward  the  palace. 
For  it  was  the  birthday  of  the  young  prince. 

It  was  to  be  a  gala  day.  Word  had  been  sent 
about  that  there  would  be  wrestling  contests,  acro- 
bats, and  —  best  of  all  —  a  fencing  match  between 
the  young  prince  himself  and  his  fourteen-year-old 
cousin,  the  Black  Boar. 

The  sword  reigned  then,  for  by  its  might  the 
Daimyo  —  like  the  feudal  barons  of  Europe  —  held 
sway  over  their  lands  and  subjects.  After  the 
Daimyo  came  the  Samurai,  or  knights,  to  each  of 
whom  —  bearing  two  swords,  so  wonderfully  forged, 
so  tempered,  so  sleek,  made  by  men  who  spent  half 
their  lives  as  apprentices,  blessed  by  the  priests  — 
the  sword  was  the  acme  of  all  that  was  noble;  its 
bearer  next  to  divine. 

All  in  the  hot  sun  the  coolie-borne  palanquins 
swept  past  the  peasants  standing  ankle  deep  in  the 
rice  fields,  shading  their  eyes  and  staring  after  the 
rich  folk,  and  toward  the  group  of  long,  low  build- 
ings whose  red-tile  roofs  made  a  splash  of  color 
against  the  camphor  trees. 

Oh-ei!  There  would  be  great  events  in  the 
palace  gardens.  Bright  fountains  would  sparkle, 
rich  food  would  be  eaten,  brave  men  would  strut 
and  clank  among  throngs  of  gorgeously  arrayed 
women.  The  sigh  of  the  peasant  of  old  Japan 


A    BLOW    WITH    A    SWORD  5 

would  be  only  momentary;  he  would  bend  his 
back,  and  his  fingers  would  pull  away  at  the  stalks 
of  the  food  he  was  never  destined  to  eat. 

There  was  to  be  a  great  feast  at  the  palace  of 
the  Daimyo.  The  Daimyo  was  great  —  and  a  peas- 
ant was  but  a  peasant.  Might  all  the  gods  of 
the  heavens  and  the  hells  bless  the  Daimyoy  bless 
the  mighty  Ackagawa,  bless  the  noble  house  of  the 
Red  River! 

Within  the  great  stone  gates  of  the  palace  grounds 
two  men  met  on  a  winding  path  strewn  with  white 
pebbles. 

The  younger  of  the  two  was  about  forty-five, 
tall  for  a  Japanese,  slender,  and  dignified.  He  wore 
a  kimono  of  black,  covered  partly  by  the  coat  of 
ceremony,  a  stiff  haori  of  crackling  silk,  embroidered 
with  a  neat  design,  representing  a  pine  tree  on  a 
mountain  peak.  A  sash  of  yellow  was  about  his 
waist,  a  fan  stuck  into  the  folds. 

His  head  was  shaven,  except  for  a  queue  which  was 
rolled  up  into  a  topknot  and  drawn  down  over  the 
well-shaped  skull.  He  was  every  inch  the  aristo- 
crat, the  face  oval,  the  cheek  bones  high,  while  a 
long  black  mustache,  parted  in  the  middle,  drooped 
over  the  thin-lipped  mouth. 

The  other,  shorter,  broader,  and  rounder  of 
countenance,  was  a  man  of  perhaps  sixty.  His 
bushy  eyebrows  were  gray;  tiny  eyes  that  twinkled 


6        THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

merrily  shone  out  from  under  them.  His  mouth 
was  full-lipped  and  partly  open,  showing  but  a  few 
teeth,  that  protruded  slightly. 

He  wore  his  queue  the  same  as  the  other,  over  his 
round  old  head,  except  that  it  was  less  the  work  of 
careful  hair-dressing.  His  kimono  was  of  gray  and 
black  striped  silk,  bound  with  a  crimson  sash,  to 
show  his  servitude  to  the  reigning  house.  He  was 
plainly  also  of  the  nobility,  for  his  haori  was  em- 
broidered with  a  black  and  gray  cross-barred 
tortoise. 

"And  dost  thou  think,  O  Hida,"  said  the  taller 
man,  in  condescending  tone,  "that  the  skill  of  a 
soldier  of  Shikoku  can  compare  with  the  art  of  a 
Matsuyama?" 

"I  know  not,  high  excellency,"  answered  the 
shorter  man  deferentially.  "The  result  of  this  sport 
alone  will  show.  His  sublime  majesty  has  been  my 
pupil  since  he  was  six  years  old.  I  have  taught 
him  all  I  know,  all  I  learned  in  the  wars  of  his  father." 

"Carefully,  Hida,  carefully!  Speak  softly  of 
that.  Remember  the  sword  is  buried.  The  prince 
—  may  his  name  be  honored  forever  —  is  no  longer 
my  foe." 

"A  thousand  bows  of  my  head  in  pardon,  high 
excellency.  I  will  remember.  I  most  humbly  take 
my  leave." 

As  Hida  made  a  profound  bow,  the  Baron  Matsu- 


A    BLOW    WITH    A    SWORD  7 

yama  snapped  open  his  fan  and  turned  sharply  on 
his  stool-like  shoes  of  wood. 

Behind  his  long  sleeves  Hida  chuckled. 

"There  is  acid  in  thy  tongue  yet,  old  turtle,"  he 
remarked  to  himself  as  he  passed  under  tall  poles 
of  bamboo  hung  with  brilliant  paper  pennants.  "It 
pleases  not  his  excellency  of  foxes  to  be  reminded 
of  his  bitter  gruel  of  defeat.  Gods  of  my  ancestors ! 
Why  was  he  not  buried  deep  in  the  snows  of  yonder 
mountains  in  that  last  battle  there  upon  their 
steeps? " 

The  old  man  passed  out  from  among  the  gro- 
tesque shrubbery  and  to  the  gate  itself,  now  open 
and  guarded  by  dragons  of  hewn  rock,  perched  high 
upon  crooked  pillars.  A  file  of  soldiers  guarded  as 
well.  They  saluted  the  sword  teacher,  guardian, 
and  body-servant  of  the  young  prince. 

A  span  of  coolies  bearing  a  palanquin  paused  to 
allow  him  to  pass  in  front  of  them.  A  hiss  sounded 
from  within  the  litter,  followed  by  a  rustle  of  silk. 
But  Hida  the  Faithful  paid  no  attention  to  the 
sound. 

The  house  of  the  Ackagawa  —  the  Red  River  — 
reigned  supreme  in  the  kingdom.  Its  wars  with 
the  house  of  the  Mountain  of  Pines  were  over  in 
the  defeat  of  the  Matsuyama  clan.  Fine  thought 
it  was  for  old  Hida,  for  he  was  Ackagawa  to  the 
depths  of  his  bones. 


8        THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

What  pleased  him  not  at  all  was  that  the  Matsu- 
yama  had  wormed  their  way  back  into  royal  favor, 
for  the  Daimyo  believed  by  giving  them  power  he 
would  stop  further  rebellion.  Hida  dared  think 
that  the  Daimyo  did  not  know  the  Matsuyama  as 
well  as  he,  who  saw  treacherous  light  in  the  eyes 
of  that  old  fox,  the  Baron  Matsuyama. 

Long  had  he  trained  his  pupil  for  this  day,  and 
now  it  was  at  hand.  The  Matsuyama  and  the 
Ackagawa  would  come  together  in  a  friendly  exhi- 
bition of  swordsmanship.  Men  would  nod  their 
heads,  fair  ladies  would  hiss  their  approval,  the  boys 
would  be  given  a  taste  of  the  struggle  for  supremacy. 
Yes,  it  would  all  be  in  sport  —  a  gala  day!  Yet 
the  prophetic  heart  of  old  Hida  told  him  there 
was  deviltry  behind  it. 

Hida  struck  off  to  his  left  through  a  grove  of 
stunted  cedars.  Coming  out  from  their  shade,  a 
bamboo  shoji  stood  before  him,  surrounded  by  a 
ring  of  stolid  soldiers  and  bustling,  bare-legged 
servants.  He  passed  unmolested  by  the  carved 
pillars  that  held  up  the  sloping  thatch,  and  entered. 

"Dog,  and  son  of  a  dog!"  cried  a  young  voice. 
"Wert  thou  calling  the  boy  of  a  million  names  who 
fell  down  a  well  that  thou  shouldst  dawdle  so? 
Rise,  old  turtle,  and  answer  —  do  I  look  fit?" 

A  boy  of  twelve  years  stood  with  arms  akimbo 
on  clear-skinned  hips,  for  he  was  naked  but  for  a 


A    BLOW    WITH    A    SWORD  9 

silken  loin  cloth.  Hida  rose  from  his  position  of 
lying  flat  on  the  matting,  face  between  palms,  at 
the  lad's  command,  and  stood  looking,  the  wrinkled 
face  gleaming  with  admiration. 

"Fit,  my  little  prince!"  he  answered.  "Fit 
enough  for  the  Black  Boar  or  any  spawn  of  the 
Matsuyama.  What  have  they  done?" 

"The  hot  bath  and  the  oil,"  answered  the  boy 
prince.  "I  told  them  I  would  put  on  not  a  garment 
from  shuban  to  breastplate  till  thou  hadst  seen 
my  muscles.  How  are  they,  thinkest  thou,  old 
weasel?" 

Hida,  chuckling  at  the  familiar  box  on  the  ears, 
felt  the  boy's  sinewy  arms  and  legs  with  the  old 
soldier's  pride  in  physical  strength.  Then  he  bawled 
authoritatively  to  the  servants  to  bring  in  the  lad's 
clothes. 

They  were  brought,  the  shuban  of  purest  raw 
silk,  sleeveless  and  reaching  almost  to  the  knees; 
next  a  leather  jerkin  of  tanned  ox-hide  with  sleeves 
to  the  wrist,  and  trunks  of  the  same  stout  mate- 
rial. These,  laced  on  by  the  deft  old  fingers,  were 
followed  by  a  shirt  of  chain  mail.  Over  this  again 
came  the  breastplate  of  bronze,  the  jointed  apron, 
arm  plates,  and  shin  plates. 

In  full  armor  the  young  Prince  Rennoske  of  the 
Ackagawa  stood  before  the  admiring  eyes  of  his 
teacher.  Then  came  the  four-pointed,  crested 


io      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

helmet,  placed  reverently  on  the  boy's  shaven 
pate  and  the  strap  fastened  under  the  firm  little 
chin. 

"So!"  exclaimed  Hida.  "Where  are  the  hundred 
Kuroki  Obuto  to  stand  in  the  tournament  against 
thee?" 

"Hold!"  answered  the  prince.  "Remember  my 
cousin  is  fourteen,  while  I  am  but  twelve.  He  is 
taught,  too,  by  that  sly  old  fox,  the  Baron  Matsu- 
yama,  his  father  —  perhaps  he  may  win." 

"Out  upon  such  thoughts!  Where  is  the  Matsu- 
yama  that  stands  in  the  field  against  an  Ackagawa 
—  or  ever  could?" 

"Come  then,  old  owl,"  piped  the  boy,  and  he 
led  the  way  through  the  open  walls  of  the  shoji. 

Strutting  and  clanking  like  a  full-grown  Samurai, 
the  boy  refused  the  litter  that  awaited  him  and 
strode  down  the  pebble-strewn  path  under  a  trellis- 
work  that  hung  heavy  with  lavender  wistaria. 
Servants  bowed  to  the  earth,  soldiers  saluted  as 
he  passed.  Unconcerned  he  walked  on,  prattling 
to  the  old  man  beside  him. 

And  now  they  came  upon  a  semicircular  stone 
bridge,  the  full  circle  reflected  in  the  water  beneath, 
speckled  with  the  broad  green  leaves  and  the  white 
blooms  of  the  pond  lilies. 

With  the  "Hei!  hei!"  of  the  six  carriers  a  litter 
mounted  the  span  and  came  toward  them. 


A    BLOW    WITH    A    SWORD          n 

The  boy  halted.  Hida  saw  his  tiny  eyebrows 
come  together  in  a  frown. 

"I  wear  the  red  for  you,"  came  a  shrill  voice  from 
within  the  palanquin.  "I  wear  the  red  for  you, 
O  my  little  prince.  The  black  of  the  Matsuyama 
is  not  for  Madame  Golden  Glow  today." 

A  head  popped  from  behind  yellow  silk  curtains 
as  the  litter  came  abreast  of  Hida  and  the  prince. 
The  face  was  that  of  a  woman  of  forty-five,  yet 
every  art  of  the  East  had  striven  to  make  it  twenty. 
The  eyebrows  were  heavily  blackened,  the  lips  were 
scarlet,  the  face  itself  painted  a  chalky  white,  the 
cheeks  a  flaming  pink.  On  the  head  that  nature 
had  covered  with  autumnal  gray  was  a  black  silk 
wig,  resplendent  with  various  jeweled  gewgaws. 

"How  does  my  honorable  father?"  asked  the 
boy,  every  tone  showing  his  dislike  of  the  woman 
he  was  forced  to  be  polite  to.  "Comes  he  to  the 
match?" 

"Nay,"  answered  the  painted  woman.  "His 
Supreme  Highness  the  Daimyo  is  not  so  well  today." 

"And  my  honorable  mother?"  queried  the  lad 
anxiously. 

"Your  mother,"  the  woman  went  on  with  an  ill- 
hidden  sneer,  "your  mother  likes  not  the  clash  of 
swords,  even  as  is  between  the  Black  Boar  and 
your  highness,  in  play.  Your  mother  would  cuddle 
you,  which  you  would  not  like  —  O  my  prince." 


12      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"My  mother  is  beautiful!"    the  boy  spoke  up. 

The  woman  hissed.  The  laugh  of  the  Orient 
suited  her  —  it  was  easy  to  feign,  and  the  boy's 
slur  upon  her  ugliness  hurt.  Well  she  knew  and 
dreaded  the  charms  of  the  Princess  Cho-Cho,  second 
wife  of  the  Daimyo.  Feared  her,  too,  for  she  had 
won  a  high  place  in  the  court  by  the  birth  of  this 
boy  —  the  son  and  heir. 

"There  is  room  here  in  the  litter  with  me,"  she 
said,  regaining  her  composure.  "Wouldst  deign  to 
ride  with  Kin-no-Yaku  San?" 

"So?"  answered  the  boy.  "But  that  would  be 
cuddling,  and  Madame  Golden  Glow  has  just  said 
I  would  not  like  that." 

And  running  his  arm  through  Hida's,  the  boy 
strode  cockily  along  the  path  that,  lined  with 
blooming  rosebushes,  skirted  the  bank  of  the 
sluggish  stream. 

"I  wear  the  red  for  you,  O  my  prince!"  the 
woman  called  after  him.  "I  wear  the  red  for  you!" 

"And  the  black  of  the  Matsuyama  in  thy  heart, 
old  crow,"  said  Rennoske,  as  they  walked  briskly 
upward  on  a  rise  of  smooth  green  lawn. 

"So,"  exclaimed  Hida.  "Truly  speaks  my  little 
warrior,  for  were  it  not  for  yon  ancient  cormorant, 
the  house  of  the  Mountain  of  Pines  would  now  feed 
fat  on  some  other  prince.  Truly  your  father,  the 
Daimyo,  lost  in  peace  all  that  he  gained  in  war." 


A    BLOW    WITH    A    SWORD          13 

"Gods  of  my  ancestors!"  snapped  the  prince  in 
a  rage.  "Dost  thou  dare!" 

But  before  the  last  of  the  angry  speech  had  left 
the  boy's  lips  Hida  the  Faithful  had  prostrated 
himself  on  the  grass. 

"My  head!"  moaned  the  old  man.  "Take  off 
my  unworthy  head  with  its  babbling  tongue.  It 
would  be  an  honor  to  die  by  your  sword!" 

The  prince,  frowning,  looked  down  on  the  grovel- 
ing figure.  Then  a  smile  lighted  his  chubby  face. 

The  old  man  was  right,  after  all.  Even  though 
a  boy  of  twelve,  he  knew  that  the  machinations  of 
Madame  Golden  Glow,  then  a  beautiful  woman, 
had  brought  the  hated  Matsuyama  back  to  court, 
undoing  the  work  the  soldiers  of  the  Daimyo  had 
fought  twelve  years  to  accomplish. 

"Thou  wizened,  crawling  tortoise!"  exclaimed 
the  boy,  reaching  down  and  catching  Hida  by  the 
rolled-up  queue  on  the  top  of  his  head.  "Arise  and 
let  us  give  the  house  of  the  Mountain  of  Pines  their 
due,  even  though  it  be  in  sport  —  eh,  old  owl?" 

Hida  rose  and  chuckled  gleefully  for  a  man  who 
has  just  staked  his  head. 

They  had  come  to  a  large  lawn  before  a  paved 
court.  Through  the  leaves  of  the  camphor  trees 
could  be  faintly  seen  the  red  roofs  of  the  palaces. 
In  the  center  of  the  lawn  was  raised  a  heavy  red 
canopy,  about  twelve  feet  from  the  ground,  held 


i4      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

there  by  four  stout  poles  of  bamboo.  Round  this, 
in  a  circle,  row  on  row,  sat  the  nobility  and  gentry 
squatting  upon  the  grass. 

In  the  shade  of  the  canopy  itself,  two  monu- 
mentally fat  and  almost  naked  wrestlers  pushed, 
pulled,  and  tugged.  The  grunting  of  the  combatants 
and  the  snap  of  the  referee's  fan  were  the  only 
sounds. 

The  many-hued  kimonos  of  the  men  and  the 
brilliant  sashes  of  the  women  shone  in  the  afternoon 
sunlight.  Silence  prevailed;  the  undemonstrative- 
ness  of  the  Oriental  aristocrat  seemed  to  make  the 
flutterings  of  the  white  and  yellow  butterflies  heard. 

At  sight  of  the  prince  the  squatting  silken  figures 
bowed  to  earth.  The  wrestlers  stopped. 

The  boy  haughtily  strode  to  an  arbor  of  twisted 
bamboo  hung  with  wistaria.  There  he  sat  on  the 
soft,  shaded  ground,  watching  the  two  weighty 
giants  tug  and  push  each  other  once  more. 

At  length  the  baron's  favorite  wrestler  succeeded 
in  pushing  his  adversary  out  of  the  square  marked 
off  as  the  battleground  and  the  referee  tapped  him 
on  the  shoulder  with  his  fan,  signifying  victory. 
The  baron  himself,  standing  tall  and  conspicuous 
under  a  maple,  stroked  his  mustache  and  slowly 
nodded  his  well-formed  head. 

There  was  just  the  faintest  hum  of  conversation 
while  two  more  ponderous  wrestlers  were  intro- 


A    BLOW    WITH    A    SWORD  15 

duced.  They  squatted  upon  the  ground,  facing 
each  other  like  two  snarling  pug  dogs. 

One  lifted  his  hand  —  the  other  did  the  same. 
The  first  lifted  his  other  hand  —  the  second  kept 
his  spread-fingered  on  the  ground.  Snap!  went  the 
fan  of  the  gorgeously  attired  referee.  Then  grunt, 
tug,  push  —  the  match  was  on. 

While  this  was  in  progress  a  boy  of  fourteen  in 
clanking  black  armor  strode  to  the  baron  and  spoke 
to  him.  The  dignified  noble  nodded  and  smiled, 
then  stroked  his  mustache  again,  while  the  boy 
retired  to  another  trellised  arbor. 

The  second  and  third  matches  over,  with  a  victory 
for  the  baron's  men,  a  group  of  scarlet-clad  acrobats 
jumped  into  the  ring. 

There  was  a  rustle  of  stiff  silk  haori,  a  snapping 
of  many  fans,  and  another  hum  of  conversation  in 
the  pause  that  followed.  The  referee  then  stepped 
out  from  the  shade  of  the  canopy  and,  bowing  to 
the  assembly,  announced  in  a  droning  voice: 

"A  demonstration  of  the  honorable  art  of  dueling 
with  the  long  sword  between  the  Count  Kuroki 
Obuto,  pupil  of  his  most  esteemed  father,  His  High 
Excellency  the  Baron  Matsuyama,  and  His  Most 
Gracious,  Most  Exalted  and  Sublime  Highness, 
the  Prince  Rennoske  of  the  Ackagawa,  pupil  of 
his  teacher  and  guardian,  the  Shikoku  Captain  of 
Swordsmen,  Hida  the  Tortoise." 


16      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

The  boys  —  the  count  in  his  black  armor,  the 
prince  in  his  of  bronze  and  gold  —  came  together 
from  either  side  of  the  lawn  and  stood  facing  each 
other  at  a  distance  of  about  thirty  feet.  The  baron 
came  slowly  down  to  his  son,  and  after  bowing 
gravely  to  the  prince,  placed  an  enormous  plume  of 
black  feathers  on  top  of  the  Black  Boar's  helmet. 

Hida,  now  resplendent  in  a  short  kimono  of  blue, 
placed  a  similar  crimson  plume  on  the  crest  of  the 
prince's  helmet.  The  referee  now  brought  forth 
the  long  swords  upon  a  cushion. 

The  prince,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  gave  first 
choice  to  his  cousin,  and  the  baron,  with  all  the 
dignity  of  his  position,  tried  them,  one  by  one. 
He  made  his  selection,  and  Hida,  waving  and 
snapping  each  keen  weapon,  did  the  same  for  the 
prince. 

A  gong  buzzed  brazen,  and  the  boys  came  together 
and  saluted. 

Then,  the  handle  of  the  long  sword  grasped 
firmly  in  both  gauntlet-covered  hands,  they  stamped 
and  feinted,  circling  round  each  other,  watching 
eyes  on  watching  eyes. 

A  blade  gleamed  a  half-circle  in  the  sunlight  and 
a  dozen  black  feathers  fluttered  to  the  ground. 
Quick  came  the  other  sword  in  a  half-circle;  but 
quicker  still  was  the  parry  than  the  sweep.  The 
prince  caught  the  thrust  on  the  edge  of  his  own 


A    BLOW   WITH   A    SWORD  17 

sword  and  shot  it  swiftly  upward,  snipping  off 
another  handful  of  the  black  feathers. 

The  Black  Boar  scowled. 

Stamping  and  clanking,  swords  clashing  cymbal- 
like  together,  the  boys  fought  on.  A  cut  —  a  parry 
—  a  thrust  for  the  legs  —  a  jump,  and  the  return 
cut  for  the  head.  It  was  plainly  evident  to  the 
bank  of  tense  faces  over  the  sea  of  gently  moving 
fans  that  the  skill  of  Hida  outgeneraled  the  cunning 
of  the  wily  baron. 

On  went  the  tourney  —  still  the  black  feathers 
fluttered  to  the  sunlit  grass,  still  the  crimson  plume 
shone  untouched. 

Suddenly  Hida  cried  out! 

The  black  armor  being  slowly  driven  back  by 
the  gold  and  bronze  —  that  was  all  the  mass  of 
brown  and  yellow  faces  saw.  But  the  old  man  had 
seen  the  black  foot  pass  behind  the  bronze  ankle  — 
saw  the  prince  stagger. 

Then,  like  a  gleam  of  white  lightning,  a  sword 
circled.  There  was  the  crash  of  metal  on  metal. 
The  bronze  and  gold  armor  swayed,  then  fell  to 
the  earth  with  a  dull  clanking! 


Chapter  II 
A  Fortress  in  the  Forest 

SWIFTER  than  all  the  swift  feet,  Hida  was 
the  first  to  reach  the  prince's  side,  and  in 
a  twinkling  unstrapped  the  dented  helmet. 
He  was  the  first  to  see  the  shaven  head  clotted 
with  blood  and  the  ugly  gash  in  the  scalp.  He 
looked  into  the  glassy  eyes,  saw  the  hanging 
jaw. 

"I've  killed  him!"  shrieked  the  Black  Boar, 
looking  over  the  old  man's  shoulders.  "Ten  million 
curses  on  my  head.  I've  killed  his  highness  the 
prince!" 

The  boy  ran  pell-mell  into  his  father. 

"Hold  thy  tongue,  lad,"  whispered  the  baron. 
"Twas  a  good  blow." 

Then  allowing  the  boy  to  run  wild,  shouting  the 
fearful  tidings,  his  high  excellency  glanced  at  the 
prince's  upturned  face. 

"The  light  has  gone  from  the  stars,"  he  moaned, 
falling  down  upon  the  ground.  "The  fire  has  gone 
from  the  sun.  He  is  dead  —  he  is  dead  —  the 
Prince  Rennoske  is  dead!" 


A    FORTRESS    IN    THE    FOREST    19 

And  the  Baron  Matsuyama  dug  his  nails  in  the 
sod  and  cast  the  dust  of  the  earth  on  his  head. 

"He  is  dead  —  he  is  dead  —  wo!  wo!  wo!" 
howled  the  men. 

"He  is  dead  —  the  Prince  Rennoske  —  the  son 
of  the  Daimyo  is  dead!"  shrieked  the  women. 

They  ran  hither  and  thither,  moaning,  wailing, 
falling  down  upon  their  faces  in  a  bedlam  of  despair. 

Only  two  in  that  crowd  of  panic-stricken  creatures 
were  calm.  They  soon  stood  face  to  face.  One 
was  the  now  upright  figure  of  the  Baron  Matsuyama, 
the  other  Hida  the  Faithful,  with  the  prince  in  his 
arms. 

Matsuyama  blocked  the  way. 

"Hida,  give  me  the  blessed  corpse,"  he  snarled. 
"I  would  take  it  to  his  father." 

"There  is  none  to  give,  high  excellency,"  replied 
Hida  quickly.  "The  light  has  not  gone  from  the 
stars." 

"Dog  —  give  me  the  body!" 

"I'll  give  thee  this,  thou  snake!" 

With  a  lightning-like  movement  of  his  bowed  old 
leg,  Hida  placed  a  well-directed  kick  in  the  pit  of 
the  baron's  stomach,  sending  that  dignified  noble 
sprawling  upon  the  turf.  Then,  gathering  the  limp 
body  in  his  arms,  he  darted  away  through  a  long 
row  of  rosebushes. 

Pattering  through  tulip  beds,  the  old  man  gave 


20      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

forth  a  peculiar  bell-like  cry.  Again  it  rose  throb- 
bing from  his  throat.  It  was  answered  faintly, 
once  behind,  then  thrice  ahead  of  him. 

He  sped  on  through  the  poppy  beds. 

As  he  crunched  the  pebbles  of  the  path  to  the 
gate,  the  bell-like  cry  echoed  all  about  him.  From 
all  directions  armor-clad  men  ran  toward  him, 
fierce-faced  men  they  were,  brandishing  swords 
and  longbows. 

"To  the  stone  fortress!"  yelled  Hida  as  they 
came  up.  "Guard  me  with  your  lives!" 

The  soldiers,  fifteen  in  all,  made  a  circle  about 
him  and  ran  on.  As  they  clanked,  crunched,  and 
panted  over  the  path,  through  the  cedars  and  onto 
the  road,  they  were  joined  by  ten  more. 

Beyond  the  gate  of  the  stone  dragons  five  more 
awaited  them,  armed  like  the  rest,  armored  and  war- 
like. Out  of  the  opening  they  turned  to  the  right 
and,  with  increased  pace,  went  down  a  long  hill. 

The  daisies  slapped  against  their  shins.  Below 
them  stretched  the  black  and  green  of  a  dense  wood. 

Once  a  deformed  dwarf,  his  face  as  ugly  as  an 
ape's,  popped  out  of  a  thicket  and  barred  their  way. 
Like  a  rabbit,  he  scurried  from  their  path,  lost  in 
the  underbrush. 

"His  Excellency  Baron  of  the  Underworld  will 
know  where  we  are  going,"  panted  Hida.  "Let 
him  come  then." 


A    FORTRESS    IN    THE    FOREST    21 

"Is  it  war?"   asked  the  nearest  knight. 

"Who  knows?"  responded  the  old  man.  "We 
had  best  be  ready." 

"So,"  answered  the  knight.  "He  will  find  the 
Fifty  ever  ready.  See,  some  of  the  other  twenty 
await  us." 

They  had  now  come  upon  the  edge  of  the  forest, 
where  the  beeches  appeared  to  have  no  end.  The 
giant  trees  stood  like  pillars  of  a  cathedral  whose 
floor  was  brown  with  the  waste  and  litter  of  a 
hundred  years.  Here  and  there  were  more  armored 
knights,  who  peered  anxiously  from  thicket  and 
copse. 

Seeing  their  fellows  on  the  run,  they  led  the  way 
through  the  dense  branches  and  underbrush,  till 
at  length  they  came  to  a  low  building,  with  walls 
of  heavy  stones  and  roof  almost  hidden  by  arching 
pines. 

The  size  of  the  fortress  was  hardly  distinguish- 
able, so  cunningly  was  it  hidden  by  the  interlacing 
boughs  above,  grass-grown  mounds  on  three  sides, 
and  the  ledgelike  rock  behind,  of  which  it  seemed 
a  part. 

As  Hida  reached  the  yawning,  black  entrance, 
five  guardian  soldiers  about  it  quickly  stepped  aside; 
then,  as  the  old  man  and  his  burden  entered,  they 
closed  up  the  gap  with  a  solid  mass  of  bronze  and 
glistening  steel. 


22      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Zuri  is  missing,"  said  one.  "Did  he  not  hear 
the  signal?" 

"Perhaps  the  Pine  Mountain  Devil  has  seized 
him,"  hissed  another. 

A  cry  re-echoed  through  the  woods,  nearer  and 
nearer.  Crashing  through  the  bushes  came  another 
knight,  rushing  and  staggering. 

"Wo,  wo!"  he  wailed.  "A  million  years  of  wo 
—  the  prince  is  dead  —  the  prince  is  dead!" 

"How  now,  Zuri,"  said  the  first  speaker;  "why 
bring  you  stale  news?  The  Prince  Rennoske  lies 
here.  Where  wert  thou  when  the  signal  of  danger 
was  given?" 

"Wo,  wo  —  a  million  years  of  wo!"  continued 
Zuri,  catching  hold  of  a  branch.  "The  old  prince 
is  dead!" 

"How  say  you?     Nay,  it  is  the  young  prince." 

"Aye,  and  the  old  prince  too,  the  Daimyo  him- 
self. The  Black  Boar  ran  to  where  our  most  noble 
ruler  lay  sleeping  under  the  canopy  of  his  fathers 
in  the  palace  and  waked  him  with  hideous  cries  that 
he  had  slain  the  Prince  Rennoske.  Never  a  word 
did  the  Daimyo  answer,  only  stared.  And  when 
the  women  came  they  found  him  dead.  Wo,  wo  — 
a  million  years  of  wo!" 

The  Baron  Matsuyama  picked  himself  up  with 
a  curse.  A  hiss  beside  him  made  him  look  down. 


A    FORTRESS    IN    THE    FOREST    23 

It  was  the  deformed  creature  —  the  Ugly  Dwarf. 

"News,  high  excellency,"  he  whispered.  "The 
prince  is  dead." 

"Aye,"  answered  the  baron,  "and  the  dog  Hida 
has  taken  him." 

"Even  so,"  the  dwarf  went  on.  "To  the  cave  of 
the  Fifty.  But  the  prince,  his  father  —  the  Daimyo 
of  the  Ackagawa  —  he  lies  dead  as  well  —  the  news 
the  Black  Boar  brought  killed  him.  He  lies  dead 
in  the  palace,  mourned  by  the  women." 

The  baron  stroked  his  long  black  mustache 
thoughtfully. 

"Wait  for  news  under  the  bridge,"  he  whispered. 

The  Ugly  Dwarf  darted  away.  The  Baron  Mat- 
suyama  walked  slowly  toward  a  litter  that  came 
his  way.  He  bade  the  six  bearers  halt  and,  thrust- 
ing aside  the  yellow  silk  curtains,  poked  his  head 
within. 

"You  know?"  asked  the  painted  woman  inside. 

"I  know,"  he  answered  under  his  mustache. 
"Play  well  the  grief.  We  must  not  strike  too  soon." 

"I  know,  high  excellency,"  she  answered  with 
a  hiss. 

"The  omen  of  the  wrestlers,"  he  growled.  "  It  is  a 
glorious  day  for  the  house  of  the  Mountain  of  Pines." 

"To  the  palace  and  quickly!"  he  cried  to  the 
six  bearers,  and,  nodding  his  well-formed  head,  he 
entered  the  litter  of  Madame  Golden  Glow. 


Chapter  HI  \ 

A  Dented  Helmet  of  Bronze 

SQUATTING  cross-legged  on  the  matting 
sat  Hida  the  Faithful.  A  brazen  image,  he 
moved  not  a  muscle.  His  almond  eyes  were 
riveted  on  a  heap  of  soft  coverlets,  whereunder  lay 
a  boy. 

The  eyes  now  watched  the  lad's  face,  where 
yesterday  they  had  watched  his  chest  for  a  sign  of 
the  rise  and  fall.  The  chest  now  moved  up  and 
down,  the  breath  coming  rhythmically;  but  the 
pale  face  was  a  blank  —  the  eyes  staring  at  the  solid 
rock  of  the  ceiling. 

The  bloodless  lips  moved.  Hida  listened.  "Some 
day,"  faintly  whispered  the  boy,  "some  day  — 
some  day." 

"What  would  you  have,  my  prince?"  asked  the 
old  man. 

"The  cherry  blossoms  are  pink,"  whined  the  lad. 
"Pink  as  thy  cheeks,  O  my  mother!" 

"Gods  of  my  ancestors!"  exclaimed  Hida  to 
himself,  still  in  his  Buddha-like  pose.  "What  cruel 
fate  directed  the  blow  to  my  prince's  helmet?  A 


DENTED  HELMET  OF  BRONZE  25 

million  curses  on  the  head  of  the  Black  Boar.  May 
his  arm  wither  and  rot! 

"What  does  it  matter  now  if  the  prince  lives? 
What  does  his  body  matter  now  that  the  thousand- 
petaled  lotus,  his  mind,  is  dead?  Shall  I  save  him 
to  sit  an  imbecile  on  the  throne  ?  Better  —  a 
thousand  times  better  —  he  should  die.  What  is 
it,  little  warrior?" 

The  boy  stirred  uneasily.  "Some  day  —  some 
day — "  he  whined  again. 

A  soldier  entered  with  a  bowl  of  pheasant  broth 
and  rice.  Hida  gave  the  dish  to  the  prince,  who  ate 
slowly  and  mechanically.  Then  the  boy  lay  down 
again,  the  same  words,  like  the  burden  of  a  refrain, 
coming  faintly  through  his  lips. 

As  the  shadows  lengthened,  Hida  the  Faithful 
watched  his  charge.  Nothing  was  heard  but  the 
soughing  of  the  pine  boughs  and  the  clank  of  armor 
as  the  knights  of  the  Fifty  marched  stolidly  up  and 
down. 

Suddenly  the  figure  of  Zuri  stood  in  the  rock- 
hewn  doorway. 

"A  learned  physician  has  come,  O  captain!" 
said  the  soldier.  "He  waits  to  see  his  young  high- 
ness." 

"Who  does  he  say  sent  him?" 

"The  Princess  Cho-Cho  San  —  the  prince's 
mother." 


26      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Bid  him  enter  —  stay!  Stand  you  to  right 
of  the  opening  here  and  bid  Hagachi  stand  at  the 
left.  Should  I  clap  my  hands  —  thus  —  strike!  You 
have  heard." 

In  a  few  moments  a  bent  figure  shuffled  into  the 
dim  apartment.  It  wore  a  long  robe  of  brown,  and 
round  horn  glasses.  The  long  mustache  was  gray, 
a  long  gray  beard  straggled  from  the  chin. 

"I  bring  sweet  herbs  and  soothing  potions,"  he 
squeaked.  "The  exalted  mother  of  the  prince  bade 
me  come." 

He  crossed  to  the  boy  and  knelt  by  his  side. 

"A  cup,"  the  doctor  squeaked  again.  "I  see 
by  his  staring  eyes  that  his  glorious  and  sublime 
highness  needs  sleep.  I  would  give  him  a  potion." 

"There  is  a  cup  at  thine  elbow,"  answered  Hida, 
watching  the  man  closely. 

"El,  but  it  is  dirty!  Or  let  me  pour  some  of  the 
liquid  on  his  tongue,  and  he  may  drink  afterward. 
Fetch  me  some  water." 

"I'll  fetch  naught,  high  excellency." 

"How  speakest  thou?"  snarled  the  doctor  in  a 
deeper  voice. 

"I'll  fetch  naught,"  answered  Hida  threateningly. 
"Naught  for  thee,  Baron  Matsuyama." 

"Shaka!" 

In  an  instant  the  beard  and  glasses  were  gone, 
as  were  the  stoop  and  squeaky  voice. 


DENTED  HELMET  OF  BRONZE   27 

A  terrible  figure,  the  baron  towered  over  the  still 
squatting  Hida. 

"One  clap  of  my  hands,"  said  the  old  soldier, 
"and  you  go  to  join  your  fathers  in  the  seventh 
hell.  Look  behind  you,  high  excellency." 

The  baron  stole  a  quick  glance  over  his  shoulder. 
His  hawklike  eye  caught  the  glint  of  steel  on  either 
side  of  the  stone  archway. 

"And  what  wouldst  thou  gain,  low-born  dog  of 
Shikoku?"  he  muttered.  "No  one  but  your  men 
saw  the  doctor  enter.  The  body  of  the  Baron 
Matsuyama  is  found.  Who  is  guilty? 

"Dost  thou  think,  slow-witted  turtle,  I  leave 
without  my  destination  being  known?  If  I  return 
not  within  the  hour,  thou  and  the  Fifty  —  aye,  and 
thy  prince  —  would  go  hellward  as  quickly  as  they 
sent  me.  How  knowest  thou  I  meant  harm  by  the 
prince?" 

"I  know  not,"  returned  Hida.  "But  by  the  look 
of  a  certain  helmet  I  took  from  his  highness's  head 
I  can  suspect,  high  excellency." 

"Dost  thou  mean  I  tampered  with  his  majesty's 
helmet?  Thou  liest,  dog  of  Shikoku  —  thou  Rest!" 

"Mayhap  I  do,  high  excellency,  yet  a  helmet  of 
bronze  is  hard  to  dent  under  the  blow  of  a  jousting 
long  sword  and  wielded  by  the  hand  of  a  boy  of 
fourteen." 

The  baron  stroked  his  long  mustache,  scattering 


28      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

the  white  powder  that  had  disguised  its  blackness. 
He  nodded  his  head,  and  his  voice  came,  velvet 
steel  within: 

"Hida,  I  have  in  my  forest  a  palace.  Methinks 
a  visit  there  might  help  thee." 

Hida  shivered  involuntarily. 

"Below  the  floor,"  went  on  the  baron,  "is  a  deep 
dungeon  where  no  cries  are  heard.  I  have  there 
a  pretty  toy  for  thee  to  play  with.  A  cage  it  is, 
a  little  more  than  thy  height.  Through  a  hole  in 
the  top  thy  head  would  stick,  while  thy  body  and 
feet  dangled  within. 

"If  thou  stretchest  thy  twisted  legs,  the  tips  of 
thy  toes  would  now  and  then  just  touch  the  floor. 
Then,  with  thorns  in  thy  eyelids  to  keep  thee  awake, 
thou  wouldst  not  sleep  for  days  or  eat  aught  but 
thy  words.  Wouldst  thou  visit  me  soon,  Hida?" 

And  with  a  snarl  the  baron  turned  and  strode 
from  the  cavelike  room. 

The  shadows  lengthened  and  broadened  till  they 
covered  all  with  their  blackness.  Striking  fire  from 
a  tinder  box,  the  old  man  lighted  the  floating  wick 
in  a  glass  of  oil.  The  flickering  light  cast  a  great 
black  shape  on  the  rock  wall,  the  shade  of  Hida  the 
Faithful  —  watching,  watching,  watching  through 
the  long,  silent  night. 

In  the  morning  the  young  prince  seemed  a  little 


DENTED  HELMET  OF  BRONZE   29 

better,  for  he  sat  up  in  his  bed  and  looked  about 
him. 

"  Do  you  know  old  Hida  ? "  asked  the  servitor  in 
a  trembling  voice. 

The  boy  smiled,  but  there  was  no  spark  of  intelli- 
gence in  the  dull  eyes. 

Hida  the  Faithful  muttered  every  curse  he  knew 
on  the  head  of  the  Count  Kuroki  Obuto,  Baron 
Matsuyama,  and  every  member  of  the  house  of 
the  Mountain  of  Pines. 

The  sun  had  but  crawled  half-way  toward  its 
zenith  when  Zuri  stood  in  the  archway. 

"What  now?"  asked  Hida. 

"Visitors  for  the  prince,  captain,"  answered  the 
Samurai. 

"Who  may  they  be?" 

"Madame  Golden  Glow  and  Her  Highness  the 
Princess  Misono  San." 

"The  child  may  come,  but  let  the  woman  remain 
in  her  litter.  Tell  the  Fifty  to  watch  her  carefully. 
She  is  the  charmer  of  the  serpents." 

There  were  shrill  sounds  of  protest  outside  when 
Zuri  left.  They  soon  died  away  and  were  followed 
by  the  pattering  of  wooden-shod  feet. 

Through  the  archway  came  a  girl  of  nine  years, 
bearing  a  basket  of  fruit.  A  dainty  figure  she  was 
in  her  kimono  of  scarlet  satin  and  broad,  pale-blue 
sash.  Open-eyed  she  looked  about  her;  then, 


30      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

catching  sight  of  the  prince,  her  lithe  little  body 
fell  prostrate  upon  the  matting,  her  face  between 
her  palms. 

"  Rise,  most  glorious  princess,"  said  Hida.  "What 
do  you  deign  to  bring  to  his  most  royal  majesty?" 

"Plums,  Hida,"  she  answered,  holding  up  the 
basket.  "See,  they  are  fresh,  with  the  dew  of 
morning  on  their  silken  skins  even  as  I  plucked 
them.  See,  your  supreme  highness  —  see  what 
your  slave  brings  you." 

She  held  the  round  red  fruit  up  to  the  prince. 
The  boy  laughed. 

"Pretty  —  pretty!"  he  whined,  stretching  his 
arms  to  her. 

Hida  sprang  up  quickly. 

"Do  you  know  the  Princess  Misono  San?"  he 
anxiously  asked.  "Do  you  know  your  betrothed, 
O  my  prince?" 

"Pretty  —  pretty  —  pretty!"  again  cried  the 
boy.  He  recognized  nothing  save  the  fruit. 

Slowly  the  girl  moved  toward  the  prince,  the 
plums  in  her  hand.  The  boy  had  touched  it  with 
his  finger-tips  —  and  then  Hida  snatched  it  away. 
The  lad  set  up  a  pitiful  wail. 

"See,  old  dog,"  cried  the  princess,  with  a  stamp 
of  her  tiny  foot,  "thou  hast  made  him  weep.  They 
say  thou  hast  tortured  him.  Let  him  have  the 
fruit.  Quickly  —  I  command  thee ! " 


DENTED  HELMET  OF  BRONZE  31 

"So,  little  princess,"  answered  the  old  man,  with 
a  smile,  "if  Zuri's  Aregatho  will  eat,  the  prince  may. 
Zuri  —  hither  a  moment." 

The  soldier  entered. 

"Is  your  Aregatho  in  the  service  of  the  prince, 
Zuri?" 

"Aye,"  answered  the  knight.  "If  the  little 
fellow  can  be  of  use  to  his  supreme  majesty." 

"Fetch  him,  Zuri." 

The  old  soldier  sat  stolidly  while  Zuri  was  gone. 
The  princess,  a  cataract  of  words  pouring  from  her 
puckered  lips,  threatened  to  have  Hida's  "head 
to  kick"  when  his  esteemed  excellency,  the  Baron 
Matsuyama,  heard  how  she  had  been  affronted. 
The  prince  still  cried  softly. 

Soon  a  shrill  chattering  came  from  outside.  Zuri 
entered  the  room,  carrying  on  his  shoulder  a  small 
ape.  The  beast  wore  a  yellow  jacket  and  was  held 
by  a  chain  fastened  to  a  harness  on  its  back. 

"Chatter  not  so,"  commanded  the  knight,  looking 
down  on  the  animal.  "Thou  art  not  to  be  made 
soup  of  yet  —  unless  his  supreme  highness  desires 
thee." 

"Nay,"  exclaimed  Hida,  "it  is  Aregatho  who 
must  eat.  See  this  ripe  plum.  The  Princess  of 
the  Seashore  gathered  it,  chilled  by  the  dew.  Give 
it  to  him,  Zuri." 

The   animal   quickly   seized   the   fruit   that  Zuri 


32      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

held  up  and,  biting  a  hole  in  it,  squeezed  it  with  his 
thin  paws,  sucking  out  the  pulp.  Three  it  ate,  the 
fourth  it  refused,  and,  crawling  down  from  its  perch 
on  its  master's  shoulder,  curled  up  under  his  feet, 
the  bright  yellow  jacket  in  harsh  contrast  against 
the  gray  of  the  rock  wall. 

The  prince,  forgetting  his  sorrow,  sat  upright 
on  his  couch,  staring  at  the  creature  and  chuckling 
strangely. 

The  girl  held  herself  erect,  every  instinct  of  high 
breeding  expressed  in  her  flashing  eyes  —  to  feed 
her  gifts  to  a  monkey! 

Zuri  looked  down  on  the  heavily-breathing  beast, 
puzzled.  Hida's  wrinkled  lids  narrowed,  he  gnawed 
his  lip. 

"Tell  His  High  Excellency  the  Baron  Matsu- 
yama,"  said  the  old  soldier,  handing  the  girl  the 
basket,  "to  eat  this  fruit  himself. 

"They  were  gathered  by  his  niece  —  the  dew 
of  morning  has  chilled  them.  Since  his  high  ex- 
cellency was  so  interested  in  seeing  the  fruit  before 
he  gave  the  basket  into  your  hands,  O  princess, 
perhaps  he  would  enjoy  them.  If  he  should  so  deign, 
tell  him  he  would  confer  a  great  boon  upon  his 
humble  servant,  Hida  the  Tortoise,  soldier  of 
Shikoku." 

The  old  man,  with  a  sweeping  bow,  touched  the 
matting  on  the  floor  with  his  forehead. 


DENTED  HELMET  OF  BRONZE  33 

"Old  worm  —  old  snake!"  shrieked  the  girl. 
"The  beast  has  but  over-eaten.  Thou  liest  —  he  is 
but  sleepy." 

"Does  the  ape  often  do  this,  Zuri?"  queried 
Hida. 

"Nay,"  answered  the  knight.  "He  never  acts 
so.  Rise,  Aregatho  —  I  have  nuts  for  thee." 

Yet  in  spite  of  the  violent  tuggings  at  his  chain, 
the  animal  didn't  awaken,  only  drew  up  its  legs, 
grasped  them  in  its  paws,  and  shivered. 

"It  is  a  trick  —  a  base,  lying  trick!"  the  princess 
cried  out.  "My  uncle  loves  the  Prince  Rennoske. 
He  would  save  him  from  thee,  old  swine  —  old 
fiend!  Thou  shalt  pay  for  this.  I'll  see  them  crush 
thy  bones.  I'll  see  thee  boiled,  thou  old  serpent!" 

And  with  her  tiny  body  shaking  with  rage  and 
temper,  the  Princess  Misono  San  ran  crying  through 
the  archway. 

Zuri  gazed  down  at  his  sleeping  monkey.  Hida's 
eyes  were  on  the  matting  floor. 

"See,  Zuri,"  said  he  at  length,  "thus  would  have 
the  Daimyo  —  whose  spirit  has  but  just  joined  his 
blessed  ancestors  —  thus  would  he  have  joined  the 
house  of  the  Mountain  of  Pines  with  the  house  of 
the  Red  River,  his  own,  with  this,  the  betrothal  of 
His  Majesty  the  Prince  Rennoske  and  Her  Highness 
the  Princess  Misono  San.  You  and  I  were  at  the 
feast,  Zuri. 


34      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"I  remember  my  many  cups  of  the  hot  sakkee 
until  I  was  drunken.  I,  who  had  fought  with  the 
old  prince  against  the  Matsuyama,  liked  not  this 
union  with  them.  Yon  daughter  of  the  Matsuyama 
proves  I  did  no  wrong  in  striving  to  drown  the 
memory  of  it.  Aye  —  daughter  of  the  house  of 
the  seventh  hell,  who  would  have  murdered  her 
betrothed!" 

As  if  in  answer  to  his  words,  the  monkey  screamed 
a  frightful  scream  that  echoed  through  the  cave, 
and,  stretching  out  its  thin  legs,  drew  them  up 
again.  Its  eyes  opened  and  its  jaw  dropped  in  the 
throes  of  death. 

The  prince  stared  wildly  and  began  to  whimper. 

"Zuri,"  Hida  said  quietly,  "tell  the  men  we  go 
at  dawn  to  the  summer  palace  by  the  Inland  Sea. 
This  place  is  dank  and  foul,  the  lad  should  have 
air  and  sunshine. 

"Let  ten  go  in  the  darkness  of  midnight  and  make 
it  ready.  The  woods  swarm  with  pheasants,  the 
water  is  full  of  goodly  fish.  Gods  of  my  ancestors 
—  the  air  here  is  filthy  with  poison  of  the  Matsu- 
yama!" 

Zuri  gathered  up  the  body  of  his  ape  and  went 
out. 

The  prince  still  whimpered. 

Hida,  going  to  a  heavy  lacquered  box,  drew  out 
his  samisen.  Then  tuning  up  the  strings  of  the 


DENTED  HELMET  OF  BRONZE  35 

banjo-like  instrument,  he  beat  out  a  weird  refrain 
while  his  cracked  voice  rang  out  in  a  monotonous 
song. 

Slowly  the  prince's  tears  died  away  —  his  eyes 
brightened.  Hida  strummed  and  sang  on.  As  the 
tempo  of  the  song  grew  faster  the  boy  smiled. 
Hida  stopped. 

"The  song,"  he  soothed  him,  "what  is  the  song, 
little  warrior?" 

The  boy  laughed  and  clapped  his  hands. 

"I  know!"  he  answered.  "'They  Cut  Off  the 
Old  Dragon's  Head.'" 

"Truly  —  and  who  first  sang  it  to  you?" 

"Thou  —  thou!"   the  boy  faltered. 

"And  I  am—" 

The  prince  opened  his  mouth  to  answer,  when 
his  hands  came  suddenly  to  his  head. 

"The  pain  —  the  pain!"  he  murmured,  and  he 
sank  back  on  the  soft  coverings  with  staring 
eyes. 

In  the  morning  there  was  no  change.  The 
dawn  had  scarcely  broken,  a  gray  oval  patch  on 
the  floor,  when  the  archway  was  darkened  by 
Zuri. 

"All  is  in  readiness,  captain,"  he  called. 

Hida  nodded.  Going  to  the  box  he  drew  out  a 
heavy  kimono.  This  he  wrapped  about  the  limp- 


36      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

lying  boy.  Then  clothing  himself,  he  stole  cautiously 
out  into  the  chill  air. 

The  Fifty  were  there,  drawn  up  in  lines  of  ten. 
Making  a  square  about  the  old  man  and  his  precious 
burden,  they  started  on  the  march  without  the  crash 
of  cymbals  or  throbbing  of  drums  —  on  through 
silent,  dew-dripping  woods,  while  the  light  changed 
from  gray,  to  rose-pink,  to  golden. 

"Gods  of  my  ancestors!"  Hida  suddenly  cried 
out,  as  they  were  approaching  the  edge  of  the  forest. 
"The  man  who  brings  down  yon  beast,  him  will 
I  pray  for  forever.  Quick!"  he  shouted,  handing 
the  prince  to  Zuri.  "  See  the  waving  in  yonder  tree. 
If  you  love  your  master,  the  prince  —  shoot!" 

Twenty  of  the  knights  who  were  archers  brought 
their  longbows  from  their  backs  and,  fitting  their 
arrows  to  the  string,  took  aim  by  Hida's  trembling 
finger.  With  a  whir,  twenty  arrows  cut  through 
the  air. 

Something  black  fell  from  the  tree,  turning  over 
and  over  as  it  descended. 

"Bring  back  the  thing!"  shouted  Hida.  "Bring 
it  back,  lest  it  escape  you." 

"First  tell  us  what  we  seek?"  asked  a  knight. 
"Man  or  beast?" 

"A  man,  or  a  demon  by  his  shape,"  answered 
Hida.  "Will  you  hurry!" 

The   twenty   ran   toward   the   tree   where   their 


DENTED  HELMET  OF  BRONZE  37 

arrows  had  struck.  Hida  saw  them  disappear  amid 
the  green  and  brown.  Then,  after  many  minutes, 
one  by  one  they  returned  with  blank  faces. 

"I  found  my  shaft  in  the  tree,"  said  one. 

"Mine  was  deep  in  the  earth,"  said  another. 

"If  I  had  but  known  at  what  I  shot,"  said  a 
third,  "my  arrow  would  not  have  gone  so  wide  of 
the  mark." 

And  so  on,  till  every  arrow  had  been  accounted 
for. 

"And  you  missed  —  all  of  you?"  snapped  the 
old  man. 

"Nay,"  said  one,  "there  was  blood  on  the  leaves 
near  the  tree.     I  followed  it,  but  found  naught." 
i    "Then  let  us  onward,"  cried  Hida,  taking  back 
his  burden. 

The  road  led  downward.  A  cool  sea  breeze 
blew  in  the  men's  faces. 

"So,"  said  Hida,  turning  to  Zuri,  "I  have  some- 
times dreams  and  forebodings.  It  seemed  sud- 
denly to  come  to  me,  that  if  we  killed  the  thing  in 
the  tree,  we  would  be  ever  free  from  danger.  Since 
we  did  not,  it  comes  to  me  now  that  the  thing  will 
kill  me." 

"What  was  the  thing?"  asked  Zuri. 

"So — "  answered  the  old  man.  "Who  climbs 
the  tree  like  a  hawk  to  watch  us?  Who  crawls 
into  a  hole  like  a  rat  to  listen?  Who  but  yon 


38 

crooked  shadow  of  his  high  excellency  of  serpents 
—  the  Ugly  Dwarf!" 

Zuri  took  a  deep  breath  of  the  salt  air  and  gazed 
rapt  at  the  length  of  sunlit  sea  that  stretched  out 
before  him. 

"Who  knows?"  he  answered. 


Chapter 

The  Mark  of  the  Black  Boar's 
Sword 

LOOKING  down  a  long,  sandy  incline,  dotted 
here  and  there  with  dwarf  firs,  the  curve 
of  a  beach  swung  into  view.  There  was 
no  surf,  for  this  was  the  Inland  Sea,  sheltered  from 
the  blasts  and  roar  of  the  Pacific  by  the  mainland 
of  Hondo,  shrouded  in  the  far-away  purple  mists 
of  the  morning. 

Not  a  sail  showed  on  the  water  that  shone  a 
dazzling  golden,  except  where  the  shadows  of  the 
high  bluffs  were  reflected  in  the  semicircle  of  a  glassy 
bay. 

The  tile  roof  of  a  large  building  and  the  thatch 
of  several  smaller  ones  nestled  under  a  great  rocky 
rise  directly  below  them. 

"The  ten  have  prepared  for  our  coming,"  said 
Hida,  his  feet  sinking  deep  in  the  sand  from  the 
weight  of  his  limp  burden,  and  the  sweat  standing 
out  on  his  wrinkled  forehead  from  the  heat  of  the 
sun.  "See,  the  smoke  rises  straight." 


4o      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"It  is  a  good  omen,"  answered  Zuri. 

"So,"  replied  the  old  soldier,  with  a  grin.  "The 
omen  of  food  awaiting  us.  The  gods  could  do  no 
better  by  thee  than  to  give  thee  two  stomachs  and 
two  mouths." 

"  I  would  rather  have  four  arms  and  four  swords," 
Zuri  responded.  "Then  would  the  cleaving  of 
Matsuyama  skulls  be  a  merry  business." 

"Thou  shalt  have  many  to  cleave  with  two,  Zuri," 
Hida  rejoined. 

"Aye,"  answered  the  knight,  with  a  cheerful 
smile.  "My  poor  blade  is  dull.  There  is  naught 
to  polish  it  like  the  brains  of  the  Matsuyama.  Hei! 
Is  there  a  joy  like  the  joy  of  a  good  fight?" 

"Thy  bliss  will  soon  be  granted  —  mark  old  Hida." 

Zuri  smiled  and  went  on  down  the  hill,  humming 
to  himself  an  odd,  weird  melody,  the  battle  song  of 
his  clan.  Hida  chuckled  —  this  was  the  spirit  of 
spirits  for  such  a  day!  Accompanying  the  strain, 
the  clanking  of  the  knights  made  a  warlike  chorus. 
A  flock  of  gulls  whirled  skyward,  shrieking  shrilly. 
The  back  of  the  larger  building  came  into  view, 
or  rather  the  yard,  for  it  was  surrounded  by  a  heavy 
stockade,  each  sharpened  post  composed  of  a  tree- 
trunk  driven  into  the  sand  and  lashed  to  its  neighbor 
by  yards  of  copper  wire. 

A  moat  surrounded  the  stockade  on  three  sides, 
the  water  coming  from  the  sea  itself.  On  the  sea 


THE    BLACK    BOAR'S    SWORD     41 

side,  the  logs  were  driven  into  the  sand  directly  at 
the  water's  edge. 

The  thatched  houses  formed  a  crescent  about  the 
left-hand  corner  of  the  stockade.  These  were  but 
rude  huts,  partly  of  mud  and  only  large  enough  for 
two  or  three  crowded  inhabitants. 

When  at  length  the  forty  Samurai  were  within  a 
hundred  feet  of  the  moat,  a  massive  drawbridge 
creaked  down  on  great  chains.  It  touched  the  earth 
just  as  the  vanguard  of  soldiers  separated,  making  a 
lane  of  clanking  iron  and  steel  for  Hida  and  his 
burden  to  pass. 

As  he  walked  over  the  log  bridge,  two  gates,  spiked 
and  studded  with  iron,  swung  inward.  The  old  man 
entered.  The  gates  were  swung  to  after  him. 

" Hei!"  he  cried.  "Food  —  a  place  for  his  highness 
to  rest  his  royal  head.  Isoge,  my  soldiers — quickly. 
I  am  faint  with  hunger  and  weariness  —  hei!" 

Five  soldiers  in  their  leather  jerkins  were  soon 
bustling  about,  fetching  rugs  and  furs.  These  they 
piled  in  the  shade  of  the  tiled  roof,  and  Hida  set 
down  his  burden  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  mopping  his 
wrinkled  forehead  with  the  sleeve  of  his  kimono. 

In  the  center  of  the  stockade  stood  the  house,  a 
primitive  affair;  the  tiled  roof  was  held  up  at  each 
corner  by  three  tree  trunks  lashed  together  by 
twisted  banyan  fibers.  The  wood  was  stripped  of 
bark,  and  carved  and  gilded  fantastically. 


42       THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

A  heavy  matting  covered  the  floor,  which  was 
bare  of  all  furniture  excepting  a  tripod  of  brass  near 
the  pile  of  skins  where  the  prince  lay. 

The  smell  of  cooking  wafted  through  the  apart- 
ment from  a  charcoal  fire  by  the  stockade.  Soon 
one  of  the  knights  brought  tea  in  a  pannikin,  rice, 
and  a  fish  stew  in  an  earthen  bowl.  Hida  devoured 
this  greedily  and  sat  down  on  the  mats  to  silently 
watch  his  charge. 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  the  Prince  Rennoske 
stirred,  breathed  deeply,  and  opened  his  eyes.  He 
sprang  up  as  the  unaccustomed  sunlight  outside 
reflected  in  his  face;  then,  catching  sight  of  Hida,  he 
smiled  wanly. 

"Would  you  eat,  little  warrior?"  asked  the  old 
man. 

The  boy  seemed  to  understand,  for  he  nodded  his 
head.  Hida  watched  him  partake  of  the  soup  and 
rice.  It  pleased  the  old  man  greatly  when  the  boy 
held  out  the  bowl  for  more. 

Slowly  the  lad  let  his  eyes  wander  about  him  in 
the  first  red-golden  tinge  of  the  glorious  sunset. 

"Here  sat  your  grandfather,  little  warrior,  in  his 
old  age.  A  tiny  kingdom  for  one  who  loved  to  roam 
free  in  his  dominions,  attended  by  his  knights,  wild 
and  liberty-loving  as  himself. 

"A  great  huntsman  was  your  grandfather,  boy, 
a  chaser  of  the  tiger,  a  wrestler  with  the  brown  bear, 


THE    BLACK    BOAR'S    SWORD     43 

a  man  whose  straight,  sure  kick  felled  the  onrushing 
boar,  whose  hands  crushed  its  hairy  throat  while  he 
scorned  aid  or  the  use  of  his  sword.  He  was  a  man 
of  brass  and  steel! 

"His  blood  flows  in  your  veins  —  Inari  be  praised 
for  that!  But  here  he  sat  for  seven  years  thinking 
upon  the  folly  of  life  and  preparing  himself  for  the 
life  to  come.  The  Matsuyama  waged  war  then 
and  kept  him  here  a  prisoner.  He  died  here;  but 
not  before  he  heard  the  joyful  news  that  the  house  of 
the  Mountain  of  Pines  was  overthrown  by  your 
seven-times-blessed  father.  And  what  will  you  do 
to  them,  these  carrion  dogs  —  eh  ? " 

The  boy  smiled  —  he  didn't  understand.  The 
sickly  smile  set  the  ball  of  Hida's  thought  a-rolling 
again. 

"After  all,  it  is  not  so  bad.  But  a  few  days  ago 
and  you  lay  as  dead;  now  you  sit  up  and  look  about 
you,  eat,  drink,  and  smile.  Hei!  the  blood  of  the 
Ackagawa  tells,  little  warrior!  Did  not  your  uncle 
thrust  his  thigh  into  a  pail  of  boiling  pitch  to  stop 
the  flow  of  blood  when  the  limb  had  been  hewn  from 
him  with  an  ax? 

"And  what  did  he  do,  little  warrior?  He  smiled  — 
smiled  as  the  black  mixed  bubbling  with  the  red. 
Such  are  the  Ackagawa.  What  is  a  blow  on  the 
head?  Soon  you  will  be  well  enough  to  drive  the 
dogs  of  the  Matsuyama  from  our  fair  land." 


44      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Hida  mused  on  as  darkness  gathered.  Then  five 
leather-clad  soldiers  came,  dragging  with  them  a 
lacquered  box.  From  this  they  brought  forth  the 
walls  of  the  house,  oblong  pine  frames  covered 
with  teak.  These  they  slid  into  grooves  that  fitted 
snugly.  Facing  the  garden,  they  left  one  space 
open  like  a  door.  The  oil  in  the  tripod  was  lighted; 
all  was  snug  and  cozy. 

Long  sat  Hida  by  the  opening. 

The  moon,  a  pale  crescent,  rose  above  the  stock- 
ade. The  faint  strumming  of  the  samisen  floated  on 
the  air,  accompanied  by  the  rhythmic  clapping  of 
hands,  with  now  and  then  a  shrill  shout.  Hida 
knew  the  sounds,  the  men  were  dancing. 

"So,"  he  murmured  to  himself,  "dance  while  ye 
may.  And  if  ye  play  as  lively  a  tune  for  the  wearers 
of  the  black  when  they  come,  my  little  warrior  here 
shall  yet  sit  upon  the  throne  of  his  fathers. 

" Hei!  Baron  Matsuyama,  the  Ackagawa  are 
not  all  dead  —  nor  those  that  serve  them.  Mine 
will  be  the  more  restful  sleep  this  night,  crawling 
serpent  of  the  seventh  hell!" 

And  Hida  the  Faithful  glowered  at  the  unoffending 
moon. 

The  crescent  moon  grew  full  and  became  again  a 
crescent.  The  sun  cast  the  shadow  of  the  stockade 
on  the  east,  and  then  on  the  west  side  of  the  garden 


THE    BLACK    BOAR'S    SWORD     45 

where  the  stunted  firs  waved  over  the  pebble-strewn 
shore  of  the  tiny  lake. 

A  month  had  passed  in  the  palace  by  the  Inland 
Sea  where  the  grandfather  of  Rennoske  had  spent  the 
declining  years  of  his  abdication. 

The  prince  himself  had  gradually  become  stronger. 
Each  day  he  walked  in  the  garden  a  while  longer, 
until  he  spent  most  of  the  day  wandering  about 
in  aimless,  open-eyed  wonder.  He  had  flashes  of 
intelligence  when  he  would  order  Hida  about  as 
of  old;  but  usually,  though  apparently  happy  and 
contented,  he  did  not  even  know  the  old  man's 
name. 

But  it  was  not  for  Hida  to  despair.  His  firm 
faith  in  the  all-conquering  blood  of  the  Ackagawa 
made  him  believe  that  the  boy  would  soon  assert 
himself.  Then  wo  to  the  house  of  the  Mountain  of 
Pines! 

The  first  sign  of  trouble  came  when  two  of  the 
archers  had  ventured  back  into  the  woods  for 
pheasants.  They  returned  with  knitted  brows  and 
sour  mouths. 

"What  may  be  in  the  wind?"  questioned  Hida, 
calling  them  aside. 

"Not  so  much  nor  so  little,  captain,"  answered  a 
knight.  "We  skirted  the  woods  above  us,  and  were 
returning  with  a  score  of  birds  along  the  way  we  came 
from  the  cave.  'Look  yonder,  Hagachi,'  called 


46      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Kana  here.  I  looked  and  observed  some  thirty 
bare-legged  swine  of  peasants  busily  engaged  in 
clearing  a  space  before  a  towering  elm. 

"'Let  us  see  what  they  do/  I  said,  making  for  the 
copse,  while  Kana  followed.  I  bade  them  cease 
defaming  the  sacred  lands  of  the  prince;  whereupon 
they  scoffed  at  me,  nor  did  they  bow  to  earth  as  dogs 
of  peasants  should.  Gods  of  my  ancestors,  and  we 
sacred  two-sword  men!" 

"What  happened  then?"  queried  Hida,  stoically 
hiding  his  alarm. 

"Naught,"  went  on  Hagachi.  "But  I  struck  one 
fellow  with  the  flat  of  my  sword  to  teach  him 
manners,  whereupon  they  all  set  upon  us  like  a  pack 
of  wolves.  We  slew  some  eight  or  ten  before  they 
took  themselves  off." 

"And  is  it  for  this  that  ye  come  here  with  faces 
like  a  sky  before  a  storm?"  snorted  Hida.  "I 
thought  me  there  were  signs  of  the  black.  Hei, 
what  are  ten  peasants!" 

"Nay,  captain,"  Kana  spoke  up.  "It  was  not 
that.  It  was  what  these  swine  were  about." 

"And  that?" 

"It  seemed  as  if  they  cleared  a  space  for  huts  to 
be  built  and  dug  holes  for  fires  —  aye,  as  if  an  army 
of  men  were  coming,  captain." 

If  the  statement  of  these  two  worried  Hida  he 
did  not  show  it;  but  there  followed  more  news 


THE    BLACK    BOAR'S    SWORD     47 

to  verify  the  talk  of  a  coming  army  a  few  days 
later. 

Three  of  the  knights  had  taken  a  boat  and  poled 
themselves  up  the  beach  for  carp.  They  returned 
with  plenty  of  the  fish,  and  also  the  information 
that  they  had  come  upon  a  number  of  men  build- 
ing several  large  rafts.  They  had  called  to  know 
why  any  one  should  so  dare  on  the  property  of  his 
supreme  highness,  whereupon  the  men  answered  with 
shouts  of  derision,  and  again  bent  to  their  tasks, 
ignoring,  for  the  time,  all  questions,  as  though 
beneath  their  notice. 

Now,  shouts  of  derision  were  no  more  to  be  toler- 
ated by  the  Samurai  than  refusals  to  give  them  obei- 
sance, so  the  three  shot  arrows  into  the  men  on  the 
beach  and  sent  them  scurrying. 

This  was  no  bad  news  to  Hida  —  a  few  peasants 
less  —  what  did  that  matter?  It  was  the  statement 
of  one  of  the  soldiers  that  rankled:  "They  were 
large  rafts,  captain,  seemingly  for  many  men." 

Hida  glanced  up  to  where  the  prince  was  walking 
and  smiled.  The  boy  wandered  on  —  there  was  no 
trace  of  fear  in  his  pale  face.  That  was  good  —  so 
Hida  crossed  to  where  Zuri  stood,  leaning  against 
the  gate,  the  twilight  gleaming  on  his  breastplate. 

"I  think  thou  shalt  have  that  sword-polishing 
soon,"  said  the  old  man  with  a  sly  wink. 

"I  am  happy,  captain,"  Zuri  rejoined,  with  his 


48 

usual  grin.  "  For  my  blade  is  cloudy.  It  shall  take 
many  brains  to  brighten  it  again." 

Hida  grinned  back  at  him.  The  prince  looked 
over  and  smiled  too,  but  with  no  sign  of  compre- 
hension of  their  talk. 

That  night  great  fires  blazed  on  the  hills  above 
them.  Dots  of  black  moved  before  them.  Hida 
knew  them  to  be  men.  During  the  next  day  there 
was  ever  and  anon  a  spash  of  white,  gray,  or  yel- 
low against  the  green.  They  were  still  coming, 
then.  At  dark  the  fires  blazed  once  more  and  a 
vagrant  wind  brought  shouts  of  drunken  song  to 
the  waiting  Samurai,  now  all  gathered  within  the 
stockade. 

The  prince  was  asleep  within  the  house  and  Hida 
had  come  out  to  listen  to  the  crazy  sounds. 

"Gods  of  my  ancestors!"  cried  Zuri  at  sight  of 
him,  "why  do  we  wait  for  them?  Let  us  out  and 
steal  upon  them  in  the  dark." 

There  was  a  growl  of  agreement  from  a  knot  of 
knights  whose  fingers  itched  till  only  rubbing  upon 
their  sword-hilts  would  ease  them. 

" Hei,"  shouted  Hida.  "How  many  are  they, 
think  you?  How  are  they  armed?  Nay,  let  us 
wait  till  they  seek  us.  Do  ye  forget  for  whom  ye 
fight  that  blood  lust  makes  ye  reckless?  Nay,  let 
us  wait  and  make  ready." 

The  knights  sullenly  assented,  and  the  making 


THE    BLACK    BOAR'S    SWORD     49 

ready  was  soon  under  way.  By  propping  logs 
against  the  stockade  that  faced  the  hill  a  foothold 
was  made.  Here  the  archers  stood  ready  with  drawn 
bows. 

All  through  the  night  came  the  shouting  and 
singing.  The  fires  alternately  blazed  and  died. 
Within  the  stockade  was  unrest  and  tense,  nerve- 
tingling  expectancy.  Up  and  down  marched  Hida 
and  Zuri  the  long  night  through.  Dawn  had  just 
broken  gray  behind  the  trees  when  a  louder  shout 
went  up. 

"They  come!"  cried  Hagachi,  from  the  shelf 
where  the  archers  stood. 

"Wait  until  they  get  within  five  yards  of  the 
moat,"  called  Hida.  "Then  let  them  have  it!" 

Like  a  wave  of  the  sea  came  the  peasants.  With- 
out order  or  formation,  they  plunged  on  down  the 
hill,  gray  in  the  morning  light,  kicking  up  the  sand 
as  they  ran  —  three  hundred  of  them,  howling  and 
screeching! 

"Within  five  yards  of  the  moat,"  cried  Hida  above 
the  din.  "Then  shoot,  Samurai!" 

He  watched  the  archers  shoot  —  there  was  a 
groaning  and  a  splashing.  They  fitted  their  arrows 
and  shot  again  —  more  screaming  and  more 
splashing. 

Zuri  stood  the  sounds  of  the  fray  for  half  an  hour, 
scraping  his  foot  on  the  damp  logs.  At  length, 


So      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

unable  to  bear  it  longer,  he  came  to  where  Hida 
stood,  and  asked  petulantly: 

"Why  stand  we  here  dawdling,  we  thirty  swords- 
men, when  our  blades  thirst?  What  are  they  but  a 
handful  of  drunken  riffraff  that  the  old  fox  hath 
gathered  from  the  tea-houses?  Let  us  up  and  at 
them.  Let  us  hew  them  to  bits,  captain." 

A  jumble  of  growls  and  cries  of  hate  came  from 
the  knot  of  shining  warriors  there  in  the  half-light. 
Outside  the  stockade  rose  a  howl,  followed  by  a 
shower  of  stones  that  glanced  off  the  armor  of  the 
soldiers  and  made  a  rapid  rataplan  on  the  tiled  roof. 

"See,"  roared  Zuri.  "Am  I  to  stand  here  and  be 
pelted  like  a  crow?  Out  upon  them!" 

"Hold,  Zuri!"  Hida  cried  out  as  a  fresh  yell,  this 
time  of  pain,  re-echoed  outside.  "Our  duty  is  by 
our  prince!" 

"Forward,  sons  of  the  Samurai!"  cried  a  high 
voice. 

It  was  Kana,  the  youngest  and  most  hot-headed 
of  the  knights.  Hida  rushed  madly  across  the  court- 
yard, but  the  gates  were  already  open,  the  draw- 
bridge down.  With  a  clatter  of  iron  and  steel, 
fifteen  of  the  knights  stamped  over  the  bridge  to 
meet  the  shrieking  mob  that  surged  about  the  edge 
of  the  moat. 

Zuri  had  said  their  blades  thirsted  —  then  and 
there  they  drank  their  full  of  peasant  blood ! 


THE    BLACK    BOAR'S    SWORD      51 

The  long  sword  flashed  red,  the  short  stabbed 
crimson,  while  the  howling  was  turned  to  a  gurgling 
as  the  dead  and  dying  were  plunged  headlong  into 
the  waters  of  the  moat. 

Backward,  ever  backward  the  peasants  were 
driven.  Five  more  of  the  knights,  intoxicated  by 
the  slaughter,  burst  away  from  Hida's  restraining 
voice.  The  old  man  stood  watching  the  fight,  uncer- 
tain as  to  whether  to  let  the  men  work  out  their 
blood  lust  or  to  call  them  off  in  the  sacred  name  of 
the  prince. 

Suddenly  a  sound  to  right  of  him  made  him  turn 
quickly. 

Silhouetted  against  the  sky,  he  saw  heads  and 
shoulders  bob  up  over  the  tops  of  the  stockade 
on  the  side  facing  the  sea.  With  a  wild  yell,  he 
gave  the  alarm  to  the. five  knights  that  remained 
within  the  enclosure.  They  bounded  across  the 
stockade  and  fell  upon  the  seven  marauders  who 
had  tumbled  inside. 

Even  in  the  fraction  of  a  second  that  it  took 
him  to  turn  his  head  he  saw  that  the  peasants 
were  still  dropping  over  until  the  odds  were  three 
to  one. 

"0-a-o-o-ong!" 

From  the  old  man's  throat  rose  the  bell-like  cry  — 
a  signal  of  danger: 

"Come   back,   Samurai!"  he   screamed.     "They 


52      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

are  within  the  walls!  The  dogs  are  within.  Come 
back!" 

The  Samurai  on  the  hillside  turned  and  rushed 
back  over  the  drawbridge. 

There  was  more  than  the  snapping  and  yelping 
of  the  mob  as  they  made  the  retreat.  There  were 
heavy  splashes  in  the  moat.  Armor  sank  easily 
among  the  struggling  and  dying  peasants  who  helped 
to  pull  it  down. 

The  gates  were  closed,  the  drawbridge  raised 
again.  Crash  and  howl,  yell  and  clatter,  rending 
and  screaming!  All  was  havoc  within  the  stockade! 
As  the  peasants  vaulted  to  the  ground  over  the 
side  facing  the  sea,  they  were -met  by  the  dripping 
points  of  the  short  swords  and  the  keen  edges  of 
the  long. 

Hemmed  in  and  unable  to  return,  the  peasants 
fought  like  demons,  battering  helmets  of  bronze, 
hacking  through  breastplates  and  shirts  of  mail, 
with  knife,  with  short  ax,  and  with  club;  but  the 
blades  still  circled  and  swung,  dripping  crimson.  On 
the  other  side,  the  archers  still  poured  death  into 
the  mob  below,  hurling  them  back  in  a  panic  — 
dying  in  droves  without  a  chance  to  fight  back. 

Inside,  it  was  but  a  matter  of  moments  before  the 
last  squirming  peasant  lay  still.  The  heap  of  the 
dead  lay  piled  against  the  log  wall. 

Zuri  wiped  his  sword. 


THE    BLACK    BOAR'S    SWORD       53 

"The  swine  are  all  slain,  captain,"  he  said,  enter- 
ing the  house  to  find  Hida  crouching  by  the  heap  of 
furs  on  which  lay  the  prince.  "The  others  have 
fled.  His  supreme  highness  is  safe." 

"Safe  enough  for  the  present,  Zuri,"  answered 
the  old  man,  "but  not  safe  yet  from  blows  of  the 
past.  See!" 

And  he  took  off  the  covering  that  had  partly  con- 
cealed the  face  of  the  boy.  Prince  Rennoske  lay  as 
if  in  a  coma;  his  eyes  stared  glassily;  his  jaw  hung. 

Zuri  started. 

"Nay,  he  is  not  dead,"  went  on  the  old  man.  "It 
is  but  the  curse  of  the  Matsuyama  that  is  still  upon 
him  —  the  mark  of  the  Black  Boar's  sword." 

As  he  spoke  Hida  wondered  how  long  his  prince 
would  bear  the  mark.  Aloud  he  said  to  Zuri: 

"How  many  of  you  are  slain?" 

"Eleven,  captain  —  six  here  in  the  courtyard  and 
five  were  thrown  into  the  moat  as  we  turned.  Hei! 
It  is  naught  to  the  other  dead  we  have  turned  hell- 
ward.  They  lie  outside  in  heaps." 

"Aye,"  answered  Hida  slowly,  "eleven  from  fifty 
leaves  thirty-nine.  We  have  no  more  to  draw  from, 
while  they  —  So,  Zuri,  look  at  thy  blade  and  smile. 
Methinks  it  may  gleam  still  brighter  ere  long." 


Chapter 

A  Brazen  Ring  under  the 
Matting 

THE  tiny  lake,  the  stunted  trees,  the  tiled 
roof  on  its  pillars  of  carved  and  gilded 
tree  trunks,  they  were  all  within  the  shelter 
of  the  wooden  stockade. 

Hida  was  there,  his  eyes  upon  the  sleeping  boy, 
who  lay  upon  a  bearskin  in  the  shadow  of  the  jointed 
eaves.  Zuri  was  there,  too,  mending  a  jagged  rent 
in  his  leather  jerkin  with  a  bone  needle  and  copper 
wire.  The  Samurai  were  there;  they  sat  about  a 
wood  fire  on  which  stood  a  kettle.  One  of  them 
rolled  over  a  round  tub,  the  kettle  was  taken  off, 
and  the  hot  water  it  had  contained  poured  in  the 
tub.  Slowly  they  stripped  one  by  one  in  prepa- 
ration for  their  bath. 

Count  these  knotty-muscled  men  that  stolidly  go 
about  the  evening  ablution.  There  are  but  twelve 
of  them.  Look  at  Zuri.  A  jagged,  livid  cut  extends 
from  cheek  to  chin,  the  armor  piled  beside  him  is 
battered  and  dented. 


ABRAZENRING  55 

There  are  other  changes.  The  great  gate,  studded 
and  spiked,  is  now  half  broken,  the  hinges  bulge 
inward,  with  here  and  there  a  log  sloping  useless 
against  the  other. 

Outside  there  is  a  change,  a  great  and  terrible 
change.  Leading  from  the  sand  across  the  moat, 
round  stones  poke  their  backs  above  the  water. 
The  points  of  helmets,  breastplates,  and  swords 
stick  ominously  up  out  of  the  water,  telling  the 
tale  of  those  that  lie  forever  silent  below. 

Like  an  old  man  who  was  once  young  and  hand- 
some, the  fortress  is  but  the  shadow  of  a  stronghold. 
One  more  assault  —  and  it  must  fall. 

Within  again,  only  two  things  are  the  same,  the 
placid  face  of  wrinkled  old  Hida,  the  blank,  coma-like 
sleep  of  the  boy. 

An  hour  passed,  the  shadows  deepened.  Once 
again  the  twelve  soldiers  donned  their  armor  of  steel 
and  bronze,  looking  to  every  strap,  tightening  every 
buckle,  carefully  and  calmly,  not  a  hand  trembling. 

Hagachi  turned  to  Kana  with  a  jest.  Kana 
laughed,  and  pulled  the  strap  of  Hagachi's  jointed 
apron  tighter,  ran  his  finger  down  the  edge  of  his 
sword,  and  smiled  again.  They  stood  in  odd  knots 
until  Zuri  had  arrayed  himself  in  his  mail. 

The  leader  walked  a  few  paces,  then  squatted 
down  upon  the  earth  and  sat  there,  serene  and  silent. 
One  by  one  the  twelve  followed  his  example  in  posture 


56      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

and  demeanor,  until  they  were  all  in  a  semicircle 
about  Hida  and  the  sleeping  prince. 

Hida  waited  a  moment,  then  rose  majestically, 
put  one  arm  behind  him,  and  let  the  other  hand 
hang  limply  at  his  side.  Then  his  voice  came,  soft 
yet  steel-cold,  without  a  tremor.  He  might  have 
been  giving  a  toast  at  a  feast. 

"Children  of  the  Land  of  the  Rising  Sun,  sons  of 
the  Samurai.  We  are  gathered  here  for  the  cere- 
mony of  farewell.  I  had  thought  that  his  supreme 
highness  would  deign  to  give  us  all  his  blessing;  but 
it  is  written  by  the  spirits  of  the  dead  that  he  be 
still  marked  by  his  sickness  for  a  little  while.  We 
shall  all  be  soon  in  the  blessed  spirit  land  where 
the  Matsuyama  follow  us  not. 

"It  comes  to  me  that  our  blessed  ruler  goes  not 
with  us.  That,  brothers,  is  no  concern  of  ours.  We 
have  sworn  to  die  fighting  for  him.  It  is  not  in  me 
to  ask  ye  to  remember  your  oath.  The  Samurai 
live  and  die  by  the  sword.  Honorable  and  glorious 
death  awaits  us,  for  we  have  died  for  our  prince. 
Zuri,  I  charge  thee,  when  all  hope  is  lost,  give  the 
signal  of  danger.  I  bend  my  knees  and  bow  my 
head  to  the  earth." 

Hida  suited  the  action  to  the  word. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Prince  Rennoske,  Daimyo  of 
the  Ackagawa."  He  rose  to  his  feet  again.  "Sons 
of  the  Samurai,  saianara,  I  salute  ye!" 


ABRAZENRING  57 

Zuri  rose,  laid  his  sword  before  the  feet  of  the 
prince,  bowed  his  head  to  the  ground,  rose  again, 
and  took  up  the  sword. 

"In  the  name  of  the  sword  that  is  my  soul,"  he 
said  in  an  even  voice,  "my  prince,  my  ruler,  and  my 
god  of  battle,  saianara,  I  salute  you." 

One  by  one  each  of  the  knights  did  as  Zuri  had 
done,  till  the  last  firm  " saianara"  had  died  away 
into  the  stillness.  Hida  went  to  where  the  boy 
lay,  took  him  up  in  his  arms,  and,  walking  like  a 
priest  to  the  altar,  entered  between  the  carved  and 
gilded  pillars  of  the  house.  The  door  slid  to  after 
him. 

He  was  seen  no  more  by  the  last  of  the  Fifty. 

The  sun  went  down,  and  with  its  descent,  red 
and  hazy,  into  the  smooth  sea,  a  wind  sprang  up, 
driving  swift  clouds  across  the  sky.  As  the  night 
wore  on  the  blackness  deepened  until  it  enveloped 
all. 

Within  the  stockade  the  thirteen  waited.  The 
wind  sent  a  spray  and  the  scent  of  the  sea  into  their 
nostrils,  blew  down  in  their  faces  the  plumes  of  their 
helmets.  The  Samurai  watched  in  silence. 

Suddenly  the  sky  was  rent  by  a  scarlet  rocket. 
There  was  an  answering  yell  from  without  —  a 
terrific  crash!  The  attack  was  on! 

To  the  thirteen  this  was  nothing.  Every  night 
for  eighteen  days  had  they  heard  it  —  the  clatter  of 


58       THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

the  flying  rocks,  the  heavy  splashes  in  the  moat  as 
great  stones  were  flung  into  it  to  fill  it  up,  the 
whistling  of  the  arrows  through  the  air,  for  the  at- 
tacking host  had  been  increased  by  regular  archers 
wheedled  with  the  baron's  gold  from  the  service  of 
the  dead  Daimyo. 

What  were  these  but  buzzing  gnats  about  the 
horns  of  a  bull!  The  Samurai  s  armor  protected 
them  from  arrows  and  stones.  They  were  waiting 
for  that  ominous  crash  again.  Then  the  bloodshed 
would  begin. 

It  came,  dull,  sickly,  rending.  It  was  the  shiver- 
ing of  the  logs  of  the  gate  as  the  peasants  flung  the 
battering-ram  against  it.  A  buzzing  of  voices  and 
the  shouting  of  orders  followed  the  crash,  then  it 
came  again.  This  time  the  great  trees  of  the  gate 
fell  tumbling  inward. 

In  the  light  of  another  rocket,  Zuri  and  the  twelve 
saw  a  huge  tree,  torn  up  by  the  roots,  its  branches 
held  by  a  hundred  half-naked  men,  being  drawn 
back  over  the  spanned  moat.  This,  then,  was  what 
had  battered  down  the  gate. 

Behind  it  they  could  see  a  hundred  more  men, 
shaking  clubs,  knives,  and  spears,  howling  in  horrid 
triumph. 

The  light  from  the  rocket  faded  —  blackness 
again. 

And  now  a  single  voice  boomed  out  of  the  dark: 


ABRAZENRING  59 

"Give  up  the  prince,  men  of  the  Samurai!  Your 
gate  is  down,  your  moat  spanned.  Three  hundred 
here  thirst  for  your  blood.  I  have  but  to  say  the 
word  and  they  are  upon  you.  Yet  give  up  the  prince 
and  I  grant  you  your  lives,  peace,  and  a  place  in 
the  kingdom.  By  Inari,  I  swear  it.  Give  up  the 
prince!" 

Zuri's  voice  came  back: 

"We  yield  nothing,  dog  of  the  Matsuyama! 
We  yield  nothing  to  thee,  baron  of  the  under- 
world!" 

"Then  die  like  rats!"  snarled  the  voice.  "For- 
ward for  your  baron!  Forward  for  your  rightful 
prince,  the  Black  Boar!  Two  thousand  yen  for  the 
imbecile  Rennoske!  A  thousand  yen  for  the  dog 
Hida  —  forward  to  the  death ! " 

With  a  howl  the  vanguard  flung  themselves  upon 
the  swords  of  the  thirteen,  faces  horribly  leering  in 
the  red  glow  of  a  rocket.  It  was  a  quick,  sweeping 
rush  of  arms,  legs,  and  rude  weapons.  But  alas  for 
j<2&£^-maddened  peasants  spurred  on  by  hollow 
promises  of  gold! 

For  a  hundred  of  their  blows  that  went  wild,  a 
hundred  cuts  of  sharp  steel  blades,  blades  wielded 
by  swordsmen,  the  sons  of  swordsmen,  laid  them 
low  in  bloody  heaps.  Still  the  voice  spurred  them 
on  while  the  rockets  whizzed  and  spat;  still  the 
experienced  men  behind  pushed  them  forward,  their 


60      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

object  to  tire  the  Samurai.  They  gained  a  little; 
the  thirteen  became  eleven. 

The  Samurai,  heads  thrown  back,  one  foot  for- 
ward, a  dripping  weapon  in  each  hand,  stood  for  a 
moment  unmolested.  They  saw  a  green  rocket 
cleave  the  air.  To  them  it  meant  nothing;  yet  the 
men  on  the  rafts,  out  there  on  the  choppy  sea,  knew 
it  was  the  signal  for  them  to  pole  their  craft  against 
the  sea  side  of  the  stockade. 

In  the  darkness  they  climbed  over  the  slippery 
posts  and  dropped,  one  by  one,  within  the  enclosure. 
The  next  rocket  revealed  them  lined  up  like  grey- 
hounds in  the  leash,  awaiting  the  word  of  their 
leader. 

The  Samurai  had  expected  this;  so,  at  the  signal 
from  Zuri,  they  backed  quietly  against  the  walls  of 
the  house,  their  blades  swinging,  cutting  a  red  path 
through  the  rabble. 

There  was  a  howl  of  disappointment  from  the 
men  within  the  stockade,  for  they  had  expected  to 
fall  upon  the  backs  of  the  Samurai  and  bear  them 
down. 

But  the  evil  wits  of  the  baron  were  equal  to  the 
counter  movement.  He  ordered  a  halt  in  the  attack, 
and  bade  his  own  archers  steal  through  the  gate 
under  cover  of  the  darkness  and  shoot  when  the 
next  rocket  rose  up.  They  shot  in  the  glare,  over 
the  heads  of  the  peasants  and  the  Samurai,  so  as  to 


ABRAZENRING  61 

hit  the  walls  of  teak  and  pine.  The  arrows  stuck 
deep  in  the  wood  and  quivered  there. 

The  ten  knights  never  turned  to  look  upon  the 
arrows  over  their  heads.  Had  they  done  so,  they 
would  have  seen  that  these  were  no  ordinary  arrows, 
but  covered  from  end  to  point  with  oil-soaked  cloth 
and  paper.  Then,  with  a  weird  coughing  and  sput- 
tering, fifty  rockets  were  shot  directly  at  the  walls 
of  the  house,  filling  the  blackness  with  myriad  scarlet 
sparks. 

All  was  enveloped  in  a  lurid,  suffocating  smoke. 
The  wind  quickly  carried  it  away  to  reveal  that  which 
was  a  thousand  times  more  terrible.  Many  of  the 
arrows  caught  fire,  and  the  flames  crept  quickly 
along  the  dry  wood. 

The  baron  gave  the  signal,  and  before  the  hem- 
med-in  defenders  had  a  chance  to  tear  down  the 
blazing  points  the  attack  was  on  again  from  all 
sides. 

With  a  blazing  house  behind  them,  a  howling  mob 
before  them,  the  sons  of  the  Samurai  fought  a  vain 
fight;  but  fight  on  they  did,  for  that  was  their  life, 
heads  still  thrown  back,  foot  forward  to  meet  the  foe 
and  to  allow  a  full  swing  to  their  arms. 

Still  upon  them  came  the  peasants.  Armor  gave 
way  to  blows  of  heavy  clubs,  spears  thrust  through 
coats  of  chain  mail. 

Hagachi  whirled  and  fell,  a  dagger  in  the  armpit, 


62      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

a  spear-thrust  in  his  throat.  He  caught  a  peasant 
by  the  ankles,  dragged  him  down,  and  strangled  him 
with  his  death-grip. 

Kana  fell  crashing  upon  him,  his  helmet  bat- 
tered in,  his  jugular  vein  severed,  yet  he  thrust  his 
short  sword  into  the  stomach  of  one  of  the  baron's 
archers  as  he  fell.  Now  only  Zuri  remained  by  the 
door. 

"Come,  dogs  of  the  Matsuyama ! "  he  shouted. 
"Come  and  take  me!  I  spit  on  you  and  all  your 
spawn!" 

And  cleaving  the  skull  of  a  renegade  soldier  with 
his  long  sword,  thrusting  the  short  one  into  the  back 
of  another  who  made  to  flee,  he  gave  forth  the  curi- 
ous, bell-like  cry.  Hida  the  Faithful  heard  and  was 
ready. 

In  the  center  of  the  floor  the  matting  had  been  torn 
up,  disclosing  a  square  of  wood  with  a  brass  ring  in 
its  center. 

The  prince  opened  his  eyes,  looked  about  him, 
and  then  closed  them  again  as  he  shivered  in 
terror.  Though  cowering  with  fear,  shrieking 
in  fright,  whining  like  a  girl,  the  boy  was  still 
the  Daimyo  to  Hida.  The  Daimyo  —  gods  —  and 
even  now  the  baron  and  his  host  of  hired, 
drunken  cutthroats  were  howling  outside,  thirst- 
ing for  his  blood,  risking  their  lives  for  a  handful 
of  gold. 


ABRAZENRING  63 

Hida  sped  to  the  ring  in  the  floor  and  pulled.  It 
scarcely  budged.  He  tugged  with  all  his  strength. 
Slowly  rose  a  heavy  trap-door,  about  a  foot  in  thick- 
ness, covered  over  at  the  sides  and  bottom  by  mas- 
sive plates  of  beaten  copper.  A  black  square  yawned 
below. 

Sparks  were  falling  from  the  roof  inside  the  room. 
Outside,  Zuri's  voice  was  ringing  clarion  above  the 
din  of  howls  and  clashing  steel. 

In  one  arm  Hida  took  the  limp  body  of  the 
boy,  and  with  the  other  hand  seized  a  square  of 
matting.  Gingerly  he  thrust  his  legs  down  through 
the  opening,  and  with  one  unencumbered  hand  on 
a  ring  inside  the  trap-door,  prepared  to  descend, 
just  as  the  flames,  with  a  devouring  roar,  burst 
through  a  corner  of  the  roof. 

"  Saianara,  my  prince ! "  Zuri's  voice  called  weakly 
outside. 

With  a  rending  crash,  a  portion  of  the  teak  wall 
caved  inward.  In  the  opening  Hida  saw  the  hideous, 
firelit  face  of  the  Ugly  Dwarf! 

Swiftly  the  old  man  swung  into  the  trap, 
bearing  his  whole  weight  on  the  ring.  Swifter 
still  the  dwarf  sprang  into  the  room,  and  with 
a  lightning-like  movement  of  his  apelike  arm, 
he  flung  a  heavy  knife  at  the  old  soldier.  It 
struck! 

The  dwarf  dived  for  the  old  man.     But  the  trap 


64      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

closed  with  a  crash  on  his  fingers,  leaving  him  howling 
and  kicking  in  pain. 

Awkwardly  Hida  unscrewed  the  ring  from  the 
inside  of  the  trap,  and,  bearing  the  prince,  crawled 
on  hands  and  knees  through  the  inky  blackness  of 
the  tunnel. 


Chapter 
A  Zigzag  Path  up  the 
Mountainside 

NOW  I  am  indeed  Hida  the  Tortoise," 
thought  the  old  man  as  he  crawled  along 
the  dark  passage.  "Even  have  I  my 
shell  upon  my  back.  But  that,  old  mole,  is  more 
precious  than  my  body." 

Hida  stopped  and  wrapped  the  prince  in  the 
matting.  Something  warm  and  wet  dropped  on 
his  hand.  It  was  his  own  blood  from  the  wound  in 
his  neck. 

"Come,  old  weasel,"  he  panted.  "They  may  raise 
the  trap  and  the  rat  of  a  dwarf  can  catch  you. 
Onward  —  onward ! " 

Crawling,  faltering,  stumbling,  old  Hida  crept 
forward.  The  way  was  hard  now,  for  the  tunnel 
inclined  upward  and  he  was  now  and  then  obliged 
to  drag  the  boy  after  him  as  he  crawled,  for  it 
was  impossible  to  stand  upright  in  the  winding 
way. 

The  irony  of  the  situation  suddenly  struck  him. 


66      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

The  prince's  grandfather  was,  in  his  day,  a  mighty 
huntsman.  Often,  the  weeks  of  his  lonely  medita- 
tion in  the  home  of  his  forced  abdication  galled  on 
him.  With  his  own  hand  he  had  dug  this  tunnel,  so 
that  unseen  by  the  hated  Matsuyama  guards  he 
might  steal  out  at  night  and  hunt  the  tiger  with  his 
old  cronies.  From  their  descendants,  Hida  learned 
of  the  existence  of  it.  None  of  the  Matsuyama  had 
ever  heard  of  it. 

"Little  did  he  think,"  Hida  pondered,  "that  it 
would  save  his  grandson's  life.  Curses  on  the  arm 
that  threw  that  knife.  Gods  of  my  ancestors,  how 
it  pains!" 

The  warm  drops  fell  fast. 

A  pale  shimmering  far  ahead  warned  the  old  man 
that  part  of  his  flight  was  nearly  over.  Farther  on 
he  found  that  it  filtered  through  the  leaves  of  a  tree 
that  spread  its  overhanging  branches  close  to  the 
ground  above  the  round  end  of  the  tunnel. 

For  a  moment  the  glow  dazzled  him,  so  complete 
had  been  the  darkness  through  which  he  had  toiled. 
He  knew,  too,  there  had  been  no  moon;  the  color  of 
the  light,  a  faint  pink,  made  him  pause.  Perhaps 
the  tunnel  ended  at  the  very  camp-fires  of  the  Matsu- 
yama host.  This  he  had  feared,  and  so  had  delayed 
his  flight  until  he  felt  sure  his  enemies  would  all  be 
at  the  storming  of  the  fortress. 

Cautiously  he  parted  the  leaves  and  peered  out. 


A    ZIGZAG    PATH  67 

A  bonfire  blazed  within  a  hundred  paces;  figures 
moved  to  and  fro  before  it. 

To  remain  where  he  was  until  morning  would  mean 
the  impossibility  of  flight;  to  hide  there,  starva- 
tion. Then,  too,  the  tunnel  behind  him  was  prob- 
ably even  now  filled  with  cautiously  crawling  men, 
the  sound  of  the  baron's  gold  jingling  in  their  ears. 
There  was  a  price  on  his  old  head,  he  knew,  and  the 
prince's  too. 

That  thought  made  him  creep  out  into  the  night, 
dragging  the  boy  after  him.  Below,  down  the  sandy 
incline,  the  summer-house  was  a  roaring  mass  of 
flames.  He  had  forgotten  that  —  the  mouth  of  the 
tunnel  would  he  hard  to  find  now  until  the  ruins 
were  cleared  away. 

He  stumbled  about,  unaccustomed  to  both  stand- 
ing on  his  feet  and  to  the  light.  The  burden,  too, 
was  heavy,  his  wound  throbbed  painfully. 

A  moving  pinkness  made  him  pause  irresolute. 
He  knew  it  to  be  a  torch.  In\  a  sudden  panic,  he 
looked  about  for  a  place  of  concealment.  It  was 
too  late.  Three  armed  peasants  came  from  behind 
a  knotty  pine. 

"Who  goes  there?"  one  shouted. 

Choking  down  the  pain,  Hida's  voice  squeaked 
out: 

"I  have  lost  my  way,  good  sirs.  Where  is  the 
road  to  Nagashi?" 


68      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Boldly  he  walked  toward  them.  He  knew  not 
the  speaker's  voice. 

"Who  and  what  may  you  be?"  growled  the  torch- 
bearer,  coming  close  to  him. 

"A  pedler  of  matting,  good  sirs,"  squeaked  Hida. 
"I  have  a  six-mat  room  to  lay  for  one  Sadakichi,  the 
armorer.  Can  you  direct  me  the  way?" 

The  three  peasants  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Knowest  thou  the  Baron  Matsuyama  ? "  queried 
the  torch-bearer. 

"So,"  answered  Hida,  "I  have  heard  of  his  high 
excellency.  But  I  am  from  Loochoo.  I  have  not 
been  long  in  these  parts.  Does  Nagashi  lie  to  the 
east,  good  sirs?  I  must  be  there  ere  dawn." 

"What  hast  thou  in  the  bundle?"  snapped  the  first 
speaker.  "Open  and  let  us  see." 

"Fool!"  roared  the  torch-bearer.  "Seest  thou 
not  that  it  is  matting,  as  he  said.  Let  us  not  waste 
time.  To  the  east  Nagashi  lies,  pedler,"  he  con- 
tinued, addressing  Hida.  "See  that  thou  sayest 
naught  of  this."  He  jerked  his  head  in  the  direction 
of  the  blazing  summer-house. 

"Matters  politic  and  feudal  concern  me  not,  so 
long  as  I  am  free  to  ply  my  trade,"  answered  Hida, 
turning  away.  "I  give  you  a  thousand  thanks." 

Hida  stole  not  a  single  glance  at  the  scene  below 
him.  He  heard  the  hum  of  angry  voices  with  now 
and  then  a  shout.  He  had  escaped  thus  far. 


AZIGZAGPATH  69 

He  staggered  on,  the  voices  behind  him  growing 
fainter  with  every  step.  He  dared  not  think  of  the 
narrowness  of  his  escape,  dared  not  even  think  of 
the  frightful  pain  that  racked  his  brain  and  throbbed 
in  his  throat.  He  stumbled  on  and  on. 

Was  not  the  life  of  his  sublime  majesty  the  prince 
in  his  hands?  Who  was  he  to  stop  and  think  of 
himself?  He  was  the  prince's  servant,  teacher, 
guardian,  higher  even  by  law  than  his  mother.  The 
thought  spurred  him  on.  The  babble  of  voices  was 
behind  him  again. 

Through  the  night  went  Hida  the  Faithful,  through 
mire,  through  brambles,  and  over  stones.  Now  the 
pine  boughs  met  across  his  path,  bruising  his  fore- 
head in  the  darkness.  Again  his  feet  slipped  and 
paddled  uncertainly  through  rice  fields. 

With  courage  that  was  indomitable,  with  deter- 
mination that  was  terrible,  he  forded  rushing  streams 
that  almost  swept  him  away,  while  sharp  stones  cut 
his  feet. 

He  still  hugged  his  precious  burden  to  his  breast  — 
tightly,  when  a  wind  brought  the  sound  of  voices  to 
his  ears  again  —  gently,  when  nothing  but  the 
crickets'  chirping  and  the  soft  ripple  of  water  was 
borne  to  his  drumming  ears. 

In  one  fit  of  weakness  he  stumbled  into  a  stone 
torii  outside  a  temple.  Striking  a  mound  of  hard 
earth  he  fell,  the  force  of  the  blow  causing  the 


70      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

blood  to  rush  from  his  mouth  and  throb  in  his 
temples  until  a  swoon  came  gratefully  to  relieve  the 
pain. 

When  the  throbbing  again  awoke  him  it  was 
nearly  dawn.  He  heard  the  cocks  crow  upon  the 
perch  above  him  and  saw  their  long  tails  wave  in 
the  morning  wind. 

Faintly  outlined  against  the  sky,  the  upward 
curve  of  the  temple  roof  was  a  vague  silhouette.  A 
gong  inside  told  him  the  priests  were  about. 

He  crawled  to  the  matting  roll  and  looked  for  the 
boy.  The  prince  still  lay  in  his  coma.  Priests,  too, 
were  to  be  shunned  in  times  like  these,  for  priests 
were  to  be  bought,  the  same  as  other  men,  with 
jingling  gold.  There  was  no  rest  here. 

He  gathered  up  his  burden  and  stumbled  through 
a  cedar  grove,  thence  to  a  deeper  forest  of  pine,  ever 
onward,  ever  upward. 

"The  mountains  are  near  now,"  he  whispered. 
"If  I  can  but  cross  to  the  other  side,  I  shall  find  the 
palace  of  Kogito,  a  Daimyo  friendly  to  us  always. 
He  shall  put  soldiers  at  my  prince's  back  and  drive 
the  hated  Matsuyama  from  our  kingdom. 

"Then  shall  you  reign  glorious  with  your  mind 
cleared,  little  warrior  —  with  mind  cleared.  Gods  of 
my  ancestors  —  how  my  throat  pains !  How  my 
head  swims!" 

Woodcutters  on  their  way  to  work  gazed  pity- 


A    ZIGZAG    PATH  71 

ingly  at  an  aged  man  who  stumbled  through  the 
carpet  of  sharp  brown  pine-needles  with  a  bundle  of 
matting  on  his  back.  A  farmer,  leading  his  ox-team 
down  a  long,  hilly  road  with  a  cheerful  " hei!  hei!" 
turned  a  sad  gaze  upon  Hida,  stopped  his  lumber- 
ing beasts,  and  offered  to  help  him.  To  pitying 
looks  and  offers  of  help  the  old  man  answered 
strangely : 

"A  pedler  of  matting  —  a  six-mat  room  to  lay  for 
one  Sadakichi,  the  armorer.  Onward  to  Nagashi, 
old  tortoise  —  onward  to  Nagashi ! " 

They  wondered  at  the  speech.  Wondered,  too, 
at  the  stain  on  the  worn  kimono  and  the  red  drops 
that  fell  into  the  dust. 

At  length  Hida  the  Faithful  reached  the  spur  of 
the  mountain.  The  green  and  gray  of  it  towered 
above  him  in  the  half  light.  He  saw  the  sun  shine 
on  the  rice  fields,  saw  the  green  stalks  wave  in  the 
morning  breeze. 

Up  the  steep  and  stony  brown  path  he  toiled,  his 
suffering  becoming  greater  at  every  step.  Then, 
about  two  hundred  feet  up  the  zigzag  way,  he  swayed 
and  fell,  sending  a  shower  of  tiny  stones  clattering 
into  the  valley  below.  The  prophetic  heart  of 
valiant  old  Hida  was  finishing  its  last  tale. 

He  had  felt  something  snap  in  his  head.  He  knew 
his  end  was  near.  With  superhuman  strength  he 
rose  again.  It  was  not  for  him  to  leave  his  prince 


72      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

in  the  middle  of  a  mountain  path.  Something  must 
be  done  for  him  —  then  it  would  be  time  enough  for 
Hida  the  Tortoise  to  die! 

He  looked  about  him. 

On  the  left  the  mountainside  dropped  sheer  into 
a  tumbling  torrent,  rushing  into  the  forest  he  had 
left.  Behind  was  the  stony  path,  ahead  it  dwindled 
to  a  brown  ribbon  between  great  boulders  of  granite. 
There  was  no  comfort  or  shelter. 

Hida  looked  to  right  of  him. 

On  a  small  plateau  stood  a  thatched  shoji.  The 
last  of  the  outside  wooden  walls  was  just  being  taken 
down  by  a  bare-legged  figure.  Hida  stumbled  up 
the  path  toward  the  house. 

He  found  the  bare-legged  man  squatted  on  the 
floor,  a  steaming  bowl  before  him.  A  woman  sat 
opposite  him,  and  between  them  a  little  shaven- 
headed  girl. 

"Welcome,  stranger,"  cried  the  man  at  sight  of 
Hida.  "A  thousand  welcomes  to  my  house. 
Woman,  fetch  porridge  for  our  guest,  who  seems 
tired  and  worn  with  much  traveling.  Sit  thou  in 
my  place." 

Hida  reverently  laid  down  his  bundle  on  the  grass- 
woven  matting,  and  gazed  weakly  about  the  room. 
The  blood  dripping  from  his  wound  stained  the  floor 
of  the  hut. 

"Thou  art  hurt,  stranger,"  cried  the  man,  catch- 


A    ZIGZAG    PATH  73 

ing  sight  of  the  telltale  stain.  "Thy  kimono  is 
bloody.  Fetch  water,  woman,  and  quickly.  Sit  and 
we  will  help  thee!" 

Hida  waved  aside  the  man's  arm.  He  stood 
glassy-eyed,  swaying  on  unsteady  feet. 

"I  bring  thee  the  gift  of  the  most  high  gods,"  he 
whispered.  "Swear  by  the  spirits  of  thine  ancestors 
to  guard  it  until  they  shall  come  for  him." 

The  man  trembled  at  the  frightful  face  and  strange 
manner.  Then  Hida  knelt  down  slowly  and  unrolled 
the  matting,  revealing  to  the  startled  eyes  of  the 
man  the  prince.  The  boy  opened  his  eyes  and  stared 
wildly. 

"Swear!"  came  Hida's  voice,  like  distant  thunder, 
as  he  rose  to  his  feet.  "Swear  a  sacred  oath  by  the 
spirits  of  thine  ancestors!" 

"I  am  but  a  poor  farmer,"  faltered  the  man.  "I 
cannot  feed  mine  own  mouth  and  the  mouths  of  my 
wife  and  daughter.  I  send  my  rice  to  sell.  I  have 
none  to  give  to  the  sick." 

"Swear!"  commanded  Hida.  "Thou  seest  me 
now  on  the  brink  of  death.  Wouldst  thou  have  me 
return  again  and  stand  as  I  stand'now  to  heap  curses 
on  thy  head  and  all  thy  house  ?  Wouldst  thou  have 
my  dying  eyes  haunt  thee  at  thy  food,  at  thy  work, 
and  in  thy  sleep?  Lest  thy  wife  and  daughter 
perish,  lest  thy  crops  fail  and  thy  house  be  consumed 
with  fire  —  swear!" 


74      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

The  man  trembled  under  the  spell  of  Hida's  gaze. 
He  raised  a  quaking  hand  above  his  head. 

"I  swear,"  he  mumbled.  "I  swear  to  care  for 
him  as  if  he  were  mine  own  son.  Art  thou  satisfied  ? " 

"I  thank  thee  and  will  bless  thee  through  a  thou- 
sand generations  —  thee  and  thy  house."  Hida's 
voice  was  weak  now  —  he  swayed  against  the  post. 

"Who  is  the  boy?"  queried  the  farmer  in  an  awed 
whisper. 

Hida  threw  back  his  old  shoulders  and  brought 
his  heels  together.  He  stood  up  straight  as  an  arrow. 
"Bow  thy  head  to  the  earth,"  he  groaned.  "The 
boy  is  the  true,  the  sublime,  the  most  noble  — " 

He  clapped  his  hands  to  his  throat;  his  chest 
heaved  convulsively.  With  a  gurgling  sound  he 
whirled,  tottered,  and  fell  face  downward  across  the 
knees  of  the  prince. 

The  farmer  sprang  to  .catch  the  words  he  might 
whisper. 

"  Saianara,  little  warrior  —  I  salute  you." 

Thus  died  Hida  the  Faithful,  son  of  the  Samurai, 
soldier  of  Shikoku,  servant  and  guardian  of  the  Prince 
Rennoske. 


Chapter 
Broken  Fingers 

HIS  feet  sinking  into  the  sand,  the  Baron 
Matsuyama  stood  about  sixty  feet  from 
the  burning  summer  palace,  for  the  heat 
was  great  and  made  him  dizzy. 

There  was  that  burning  inside  him  that  was  as 
hot  as  the  roaring  flames  —  the  uncertainty  of  this 
last  moment.  He  bit  his  nails  as  he  saw  the  peasants 
and  soldiers  draw  away  from  the  burning  building. 

Had  the  prince  and  Hida  perished  in  the  fire? 
That  was  good,  though  he  would  rather  have  had 
him  and  the  servant  alive.  His  heart  gave  a  bound 
as  he  saw  two  of  his  men  bearing  a  small,  limp  body 
toward  him.  The  gods  be  praised,  this  must  be  the 
boy! 

His  heart  churned  the  blood  in  his  veins  as  the 
men  brought  the  body  nearer.  They  laid  it  at  his 
feet.  With  a  yell  he  got  to  his  knees  to  look  at  the 
face.  When  he  saw  who  it  was,  he  struck  the  thing 
a  vicious  blow  in  the  mouth  —  it  was  the  Ugly 
Dwarf,  half  conscious,  moaning  in  pain. 

The    baron    cajoled,     roared,     commanded,    and 


76      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

threatened.  It  was  no  use.  To  face  living  men  was 
one  thing;  to  face  the  spirits  of  the  dead  amid 
roaring  fire  —  not  a  man  would  budge. 

The  baron's  rage  turned  again  to  the  thing  at  his 
feet.  He  kicked  it  soundly  in  the  side.  The  dwarf 
opened  his  eyes,  howled,  then  thrust  the  fingers  of 
his  left  hand  into  his  mouth,  gurgling  and  coughing 
with  the  pain  of  them. 

"Speak,  ape!"  clamored  his  high  excellency. 
"Where  are  Hida  and  the  prince?  Do  they  live? 
Answer,  or,  by  Inari,  I'll  have  thy  tongue  torn  out!" 

The  dwarf  waved  his  left  hand  madly  in  the  air, 
and  with  his  right  pointed  to  the  earth. 

"A  hole  in  the  earth!"  he  panted  between  howls. 
"A  trap  —  they  have  gone  through  a  trap  in  the 
floor  —  Hida  I  stabbed  in  the  neck  —  the  boy  was 
not  there  —  hei!  hei!  my  fingers  —  they  are  broken 
—  hei!" 

And  the  dwarf  squealed  with  pain,  nor  could  all 
the  kickings  of  the  baron  get  him  to  take  his  maimed 
fingers  from  out  his  mouth  again. 

The  baron  ran  up  and  down  the  sand  waving  his 
long  arms  over  his  head. 

"Two  thousand  yen  for  the  dog  Hida!"  he  shouted. 
"Three  thousand  for  the  imbecile  Rennoske!  After 
them !  Scour  the  woods,  swim  the  waters  —  search, 
search,  search!  Who  finds  them  will  I  make  a 
prince,  to  share  the  kingdom  with  the  Black  Boar!" 


BROKEN    FINGERS  77 

The  peasants,  who  had  stood  about  gaping  at  the 
strange  figure  who  raved  up  and  down,  the  fire 
throwing  weird  shadows  on  the  beach,  began  to  take 
heed  of  his  words. 

"This  way,  brothers!"  cried  one,  and  led  the  way 
up  the  hill.  A  dozen  or  so  followed  him. 

"Nay,  it  is  here  —  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel  is 
here  —  I  know  full  well!"  an  old,  cracked  voice 
shouted,  running  to  the  water's  edge.  Twenty-odd 
followed  him. 

Soon  the  peasants  were  running  in  all  directions, 
shouting  and  baying  like  so  many  bloodhounds. 
The  baron  listened  to  the  sounds  die  away  to  the 
east,  the  west,  and  the  south.  Still  he  stamped  up 
and  down,  gnawing  his  nails. 

It  was  already  sunrise  when  the  fire  died  down, 
and  the  summer  palace  lay  a  heap  of  smoking  ashes. 
It  was  noon  before  his  high  excellency  called  the 
soldiers  who  remained  about  him  off  from  the  task 
of  raking  and  poking  among  the  embers.  They 
could  find  no  trace  of  the  trap-door.  The  ashes 
lay  too  thick  —  superstition  held  the  men  from 
searching  very  hard. 

The  sun  had  passed  the  zenith  when  the  baron, 
his  back  bent,  strode  wearily  up  the  hill. 

It  was  a  glorious  day.  The  gulls  screeched  over 
his  head,  the  sun  danced  upon  the  water.  In  the 
woods  the  birds  twittered;  but  he  heeded  them  not. 


78      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Despair,  disappointment,  baffled  desire,  fought 
within  his  breast.  He  passed  through  the  stone 
dragons  of  the  gate,  the  dwarf  at  his  heels,  the 
seventy-odd  soldiers  tramping  wearily  after  in  a 
ragged  file. 

Before  he  reached  the  palace  itself  he  crossed  to  a 
building  of  stone  that  was  built  half-buried  in  the 
earth.  He  beckoned  to  five  of  the  soldiers  to  ac- 
company him. 

Two  knights  stood  armed  before  the  door  of  the 
house.  The  fight  was  short  —  the  bronze-armored 
men  soon  lay  stretched  out  on  the  grass. 

"Bide  ye  here  a  while,"  growled  the  baron  to  the 
five. 

They  saw  him  descend  the  stone  steps  of  the 
godown.  He  came  up  again,  bearing  in  each  hand 
a  heavy  bag.  Back  again  to  where  the  rest  of  the 
men  waited  he  shuffled,  set  one  of  the  bags  upon  the 
sunlit  grass,  and  opened  it. 

Many  times  did  those  long  fingers  dive  into  the 
bag  and  return  from  it,  the  gleam  of  gold  shining 
between  them.  One  by  one  the  men  were  paid. 

"Shall  we  guard  the  godown,  high  excellency?" 
one  asked. 

"There  is  no  need,"  the  baron  snarled.  "It  is 
empty.  But,"  he  added,  with  a  significant  raise  of 
his  fine  eyebrows,  "we  will  fill  it  again,  and  for  every 
man  who  brings  another  to  my  service  will  I  double 


BROKEN    FINGERS  79 

the  sum  I  have  given  now.  Ye  shall  find  me  more 
than  liberal;  your  women  may  wear  fine  silks,  and 
those  that  have  no  women  may  go  abroad  and  take 
what  they  see.  A  good  master  ye  shall  find  me." 

"A  banzai  to  your  high  excellency,"  said  the  man. 

They  cheered  with  a  will. 

The  baron  smiled  and  went  on:  "Again  —  for 
the  Black  Boar,  your  Daimyo  —  Nay,  not  here. 
Spread  about  —  walk  among  the  gardens,  shouting: 
'Long  live  the  Matsuyama!  Down  with  the  Acka- 
gawa!  Long  live  the  Black  Boar!'  Aye,  we  shall 
have  a  merry  time  of  it  if  ye  will  but  serve  me." 

"And  the  peasants  who  helped?"  queried  the  man. 

"The  peasants  shall  be  served  as  peasants," 
growled  his  high  excellency.  "Thou  hast  swords." 

He  left  them  then,  treading  the  pebble-strewn 
path  in  the  direction  of  the  palace. 

Under  the  red-tiled  roof  of  the  throne-room  he 
found  the  woman  —  Madame  Golden  Glow.  Her 
painted  face  was  drawn,  the  black  lines  below  her 
eyes  showing  plainly  her  sleepless  night. 

"Well,"  she  hissed,  "are  they  slain?" 

The  baron  cursed  and  ground  his  heel  into  the 
matting. 

"We  know  not!"  he  cried  in  guttural  tones. 
"Inari  be  cursed,  we  know  not.  But  will  I  win 
without  him  —  that  I  swear.  The  kingdom  is  mine 
—  mine  and  my  son's!" 


80      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

He  stroked  his  mustache  and  nodded  his  well- 
formed  head. 

Thus  began  the  rule  of  the  Matsuyama. 

The  young  Black  Boar's  warriors  —  wavering, 
disaffected,  to  be  bought,  to  be  sold  —  harried  the 
countryside,  and,  hirelings  of  a  tyrant  as  they  were, 
carried  abroad  with  their  swords  and  iron  heels  the 
unrest  that  permeated  the  palace. 

As  the  years  went  by  the  peasants  growled  and 
muttered  under  death-dealing  taxes  and  brutal 
collectors,  while  within  the  palace's  tissue-paper 
walls  the  baron  and  Madame  Golden  Glow  plotted 
and  whispered,  and  taught  the  young  Black  Boar 
how  hard  he  might  drive  his  kingdom  and  what  he 
must  pay  for  the  ride. 

Upon  a  tiger  skin  under  the  crimson  canopy, 
heavy  with  gold  and  silver  thread,  sat  the  Black 
Boar,  a  boy  of  seventeen,  dark-skinned,  dark-eyed, 
the  inky  eyebrows  meeting  in  a  point  over  the 
broad-nostriled  nose.  Squatted  beside  him  was  his 
father.  The  woman  was  there,  too,  paint  and 
powder,  silken  wig,  jeweled  gewgaws,  and  all. 

The  room  was  dim,  for  the  yellow  paper  walls 
of  the  house  were  up.  From  outside,  above  the 
clank  of  armor,  came  the  shrill  voice  of  command. 

"Do   you   think,   O   my   father,"   said   the   boy 


BROKEN    FINGERS  81 

wearily,  "that  the  Captain  Mori  is  a  brave  man, 
and  capable?" 

The  baron  smiled. 

"Skeptical  even  in  thy  youth,  O  my  son,"  he 
answered.  "It  is  a  good  sign.  Mori  I  trust.  Has 
he  not  increased  thy  army  from  seventy  to  nigh 
upon  seven  hundred?  Listen!  He  drills  them  now 
and  every  morn. 

"Secure  hast  thou  sat  upon  thy  throne  for  two 
years  without  a  sign  of  rebellion.  Spring  and  fall 
the  taxes  pour  in.  The  godowns  are  full  of  rice  and 
wine.  Is  there  aught  that  thou  wouldst  have? 
Speak  but  to  me  or  Mori,  and  the  blades  of  fourteen 
hundred  swords  will  fetch  it  thee." 

"Yet  I  fear  the  people,"  the  boy  went  on,  his 
hands  twisting  the  silken  rope  of  the  curtain.  "You 
know  full  well  they  loved  the  Ackagawa." 

The  baron  sneered. 

"And  where  are  the  Ackagawa,  my  son?"  he 
asked.  "Rennoske  is  dead  or  useless.  Didst  thou 
not  rob  him  of  his  reason  in  that  fight  here  upon 
the  Lawn  of  the  Roses  ?  He  is  an  imbecile  —  if  he 
lives,  which  I  doubt.  His  mother?  Well  dost  thou 
know  his  mother  is  no  more  —  hei,  Madame  Golden 
Glow?" 

The  painted  woman  smiled  back,  black-toothed 
and  ugly. 

"Who  is  there  else?     Hida  was  wounded  by  the 


82       THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

dwarf — his  years  were  many.  It  is  not  in  reason 
he  could  long  live.  "Yet  the  dwarf  goes  abroad 
with  spies  to  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  land. 
If  Rennoske  lives,  he  will  find  him.  Art  thou 
satisfied?" 

"But  it  is  the  peasants  I  fear,"  the  boy  insisted. 
"How  shall  we  curb  them?" 

The  baron  yawned  and  stretched  his  arms  over 
his  head. 

"Dost  thou  remember,  son,"  —  he  spoke  in  cool 
tones,  —  "  the  two  great  dogs  we  brought  from  the 
distant  lands  of  snow?  No  one  could  go  near  them 
lest  they  be  torn  in  bits. 

"Dost  thou  remember  the  day  they  broke  their 
chains  and  killed  a  waiting-woman  of  the  princess? 
The  archers  shot  at  them,  but  missed;  for  days  they 
ran  about  till  no  one  durst  venture  to  take  down  their 
shoji  walls.  Dost  thou  recall  what  I  did?  I  saw 
them  go  into  the  godozvn  in  search  of  food,  and  I 
closed  the  door  and  kept  them  in.  For  days  they 
howled  and  whined. 

"A  week  passed,  and  I  had  them  let  out  again. 
What  were  they,  these  ferocious  beasts  that  had 
threatened  all  our  lives?  Lean  till  the  ribs  showed, 
the  white  teeth  snapped  harmless  at  the  air,  their 
tongues  lolled. 

"They  tried  to  run  at  me,  but  —  gods!  I  can 
see  them  now  —  they  fell  down !  Hunger,  thirst, 


BROKEN    FINGERS  83 

and  darkness  had  done  what  the  arrows  of  the 
archers  could  not  do.  I  killed  each  one  with  a  kick. 
A  child  could  have  done  as  well. 

"Dost  thou  see,  boy?  If  the  peasants  rise,  we 
will  take  their  food.  Open  the  door,  woman;  let 
us  look  upon  our  men-at-arms." 


Chapt 


er 

A  Halted  Terse  in  a  Poem 

STANDING  in  water  that  reached  to  the 
middle  of  his  well-rounded  calves  was  a 
Japanese  boy  of  eighteen. 

His  face  was  a  perfect  oval,  the  eyes  clear  and 
wide-open;  a  tinge  of  pink  flushed  his  high  cheek 
bones;  the  mouth  was  small  and  well-formed,  with 
a  rich  fulness  to  the  lower  lip.  His  fingers,  wrinkled 
by  long  immersion,  swiftly  pulled  forth  green  stalk 
after  green  stalk,  laying  the  rice  plants  on  the  mud 
dike  behind  him  in  a  neat  row. 

He  was  dressed  in  a  haragakke,  a  short  pinafore  of 
gray.  Under  it  showed  a  shuban  of  cotton  of  the 
same  color,  while  over  his  loin  cloth  was  drawn  a 
pair  of  heavy  cotton  trunks  —  white  they  had  been, 
but  were  now  stained  in  brown  splotches  by  the 
earth. 

His  legs  were  bare,  and  on  his  head  a  straw  tycoon, 
like  an  inverted  soup  bowl.  Even  as  back  bent  low 
and  the  head  bobbed  up  and  down  in  the  sunlight, 
his  voice  came  in  a  steady,  songlike  monotone,  form- 
ing a  sort  of  recitation. 


A    HALTED    VERSE    IN    A    POEM     85 

"Diligent  even  at  thy  task,  Little  Warrior?" 

The  boy  looked  up  quickly  at  the  words,  then 
bowed  profoundly.  Standing  on  the  mud  dike 
above  him  was  a  thin,  wrinkled  old  man  in  a  faded 
kimono.  He  was  the  Shinto  priest,  teacher,  and 
philosopher  of  the  countryside,  honored  and  re- 
spected by  all. 

"I  know  it  here  in  the  rice  fields,  O  holy  sir,"  the 
boy  answered  cheerfully. 

"Then  thou  shouldst  know  it  tomorrow,"  said 
the  priest.  "A  prayer  and  an  offering  at  the  house 
shrine  and  all  will  be  well.  Thou  dost  not  yet  recall 
the  name  of  the  man  who  brought  thee  hither?"  he 
added  gravely.  "It  is  not  well  to  pray  to  a  spirit 
unknown." 

"Then  my  prayers  must  be  useless,"  the  boy 
replied.  "I  know  the  man  was  good  to  me  and  I 
owe  him  my  life,  for  it  seems  to  me  he  brought  me 
here  through  great  danger,  but  who  he  was  I  cannot 
recall." 

"And  thyself?"  quizzed  the  priest. 

"Of  myself  I  know  still  less,"  the  boy  answered. 
"I  have  a  confused  remembrance  of  swords,  armor, 
and  much  shouting,  then  flames  burst  forth  and  all 
is  blackness.  I  cannot  tell  thee  more,  O  holy  sir, 
for  it  pains  me  here." 

The  boy  pointed  to  a  jagged  scar  above  his  fore- 
head. 


"Fear  not,"  said  the  priest  kindly.  "Thou  art 
now  the  adopted  son  of  Miyoshi  the  farmer,  a  sturdy 
lad  and  clever.  Pray  to  the  spirit  of  thy  dead  bene- 
factor, who  must  haunt  his  grave  these  six  years. 
May  thy  sinews  grow  with  thy  knowledge  —  until 
the  morrow  then,  farewell." 

The  boy  bowed  low  again  as  the  old  priest  stalked 
majestically  along  the  dike,  turned  the  corner  of  a 
boulder,  and  was  lost  to  sight  among  the  pine 
boughs. 

All  afternoon  the  boy  toiled  among  the  rice  plants 
in  the  water  that  trickled  through  irrigation  ditches, 
one  above  the  other,  on  the  mountainside  through 
the  devious  dikes  of  mud.  All  day  long  he  culled 
the  rice,  his  lips  busy  the  while,  mumbling  the  long, 
singsong  recitation. 

At  last  he  knew  that  the  sun  was  sinking,  so  he 
rose  and  watched  it,  a  scarlet  ball,  dip  behind  the 
fir-clad  hills.  The  country  was  mountainous  on  all 
sides,  the  green  slopes  dotted  with  tiny  houses  of 
bamboo  and  thatch. 

The  place  where  he  stood  was  about  four  hundred 
feet  up  the  slope,  which  it  rolled  down  rather 
steeply  to  a  narrow  brown  road  that  curved  up 
and  down  like  a  toboggan  track.  On  the  other 
side  it  rose  again  for  perhaps  a  hundred  feet,  then 
fell  again,  a  higher  rise  behind  it,  and  so  on,  in- 
numerable hills  and  dells,  up  and  down,  up  and 


A    HALTED    VERSE    IN   A    POEM    87 

down,  green  with  pine,  spruce,  cedar,  and  maple, 
with  the  brown  of  cottage  roofs  the  only  contrast 
against  the  vernal  hue. 

Above  the  boy,  as  he  turned,  the  mountain  towered 
sheer,  the  top  of  it  lost  in  a  scarlet  haze. 

The  boy  heaved  the  sigh  of  one  finished  with  his 
task  and  glad  of  it.  He  climbed  out  of  the  ditch 
and  ran  along  the  top  of  the  highest  dike,  while  the 
sun  turned  the  many  ditches  below  him  into  flashing 
ribbons  of  orange. 

Once  more  a  familiar  scene  came  before  him. 
It  was  the  tiny  plateau,  in  the  middle  of  which  stood 
the  thatched  roof  of  the  cottage  on  its  four  beams  and 
platform  of  wood. 

He  saw  the  figure  of  Miyoshi  the  Farmer  stand- 
ing by  a  stone  well,  half  enveloped  in  a  cloud  of 
blue  smoke.  Under  the  roof  the  kimonos  of  two 
women  bustled  about  as  they  prepared  the  evening 
meal. 

There  were  two  cherry  trees  before  the  house, 
two  more  round  wells  of  stone,  and  an  oblong  patch 
of  ground  behind  the  cottage  where  the  chrysanthe- 
mums bloomed  in  November.  This  he  had  seen 
often,  so  often  that  it  had  become  woven  into  his 
life,  and  he  accepted  it  gladly  as  his  life. 

"How  looks  the  crop  for  transplanting,  son?" 
asked  Miyoshi,  as  the  boy  came  up  to  him,  his  eyes 
still  on  the  charcoal  brazier  before  him. 


88      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"'Tis  a  goodly  one,  my  father,"  answered  the 
boy.  "For  you  the  winter  should  be  a  time  of  ease 
and  plenty." 

"So,"  said  the  farmer  with  a  grunt.  "If  I  can 
sell  it  all  it  may  be.  Yet  methinks  the  soldiers  of 
the  Matsuyama  will  be  upon  me  to  seize  their  half 
after  we  have  gone  to  the  trouble  to  hull  and  bag  it. 
Blessed  be  the  day  when  the  Prince  Rennoske  comes 
into  his  own  —  if  he  ever  does." 

"And  who  is  the  Prince  Rennoske,  O  my  father?" 
asked  the  boy. 

So  the  farmer  told  the  Prince  Rennoske  who  he 
was,  but  the  Prince  Rennoske  learned  nothing  from 
the  telling  —  learned  not  that  he,  the  adopted  son 
of  Miyoshi  the  Farmer,  was  himself  the  prince,  the 
hereditary  Daimyo  of  the  very  ground  he  stood 
upon. 

And  so  in  the  twilight  Prince  Rennoske  burned 
charcoal,  while  the  light  in  the  west  changed  from 
orange  to  blue  over  his  dominion,  and  the  blue  of 
the  smoke  from  his  fire  rose  straight  up  to  mingle 
with  it. 

"Father  bids  me  tell  you  supper  awaits  you." 

Rennoske  looked  up  blinking  from  the  red  coals 
to  find  a  girl  of  fourteen,  with  eyes  downcast,  stand- 
ing before  him. 

"Then  it  is  welcome,  O  Kiku  San,"  he  answered. 
"Welcome  as  thy  presence  here  in  the  soft  shades  of 


A    HALTED    VERSE    IN    A    POEM    89 

evening."  Then,  leaning  toward  her,  he  added 
softly:  "And  that  is  as  welcome  as  the  nightingale's 
song  in  the  springtime." 

The  girl  blushed  at  the  familiarity,  then  with  a 
rippling  laugh  turned  and  ran  back  to  the  house, 
while  the  boy  followed. 

They  squatted  on  the  floor,  each  before  a  little 
traylike  table,  the  farmer,  his  wife,  the  boy,  and 
the  girl. 

Rennoske  would  raise  his  eyes  from  his  bowl  of 
millet  and  they  would  meet  the  eyes  of  Kiku.  And 
then  Kiku's  eyes  would  fall  —  not  under  Rennoske's 
gaze,  for  she  could  have  gazed  upon  him  while  her 
food  grew  cold  and  never  complain.  It  was  the 
eyes  of  her  father  she  felt  ashamed  under  —  girls 
are  not  supposed  to  look  so  longingly  at  adopted 
brothers.  Yet  Kiku  looked  when  she  dared. 

Rennoske's  eyes  were  somehow  always  there  to 
meet  hers.  Kiku's  eyes  he  had  not  seen  in  his 
childhood,  he  felt  certain.  He  would  not  have 
forgotten  them  if  he  had. 

After  the  meal  came  the  nightly  game  of  shogi. 
This  daily  bore  had  become  a  dread  to  Rennoske. 
Better  to  sit  by  Kiku,  who  embroidered  by  the 
alcove,  where  stood  the  green  vase  with  the  spray  of 
flowers.  Better  to  stroll  with  her  by  the  mountain 
torrent  and  to  watch  the  spray  from  it  shine  in  the 
moonlight. 


90      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

But  talks  and  strolls  with  Kiku  were  forbidden 
things  since  they  had  both  grown  up  —  that  is, 
while  Miyoshi  was  in  sight,  —  so  the  young  man 
swallowed  a  yawn  and  consented  to  let  the  farmer 
checkmate  him. 

By  this  time  Miyoshi's  wife  had  brought  out  the 
walls  of  paper  with  wooden  frame  and  slid  them  into 
the  grooves  so  that  the  one  room  became  four,  with 
one  for  each.  Rennoske  put  up  the  outside  walls, 
and  taking  up  his  quilting  went  into  the  little  paper- 
enclosed  square  that  was  his  own  resting  place. 
He  laid  the  bedding  on  whatever  part  of  the  heavy 
grass  matting  best  suited  him,  though  there  was 
not  much  room  for  choice,  and  laying  his  head 
upon  his  pillow  of  wood,  he  slept  —  to  dream  of 
Kiku's  eyes. 

In  the  early  morning  he  rose  and  took  the  round 
little  bathtub  of  wood  into  the  garden.  Then  with 
water  heated  to  the  boiling  point  in  a  kettle  placed 
upon  a  rude  brick  stove  outside,  he  took  his  hot  bath. 
Returning  to  the  house,  he  donned  his  clean  loin 
cloth  and  shuban,  and  putting  on  his  best  kimono  of 
dark  green,  with  the  tan  sash,  he  was  ready. 

This  was  the  day  of  the  poetic  contest,  and  so  the 
farmer  had  excused  him  from  work. 

After  a  light  meal  he  started  off  with  the  well- 
wishes  of  his  foster-father,  his  literary  composition 
in  the  wide  sleeve  of  his  garment.  There  was  no 


A    HALTED    VERSE    IN   A    POEM    91 

reason  why  he  should  do  so,  but  he  took  the  path 
that  led  by  the  rice  fields. 

There  the  reason  became  evident.  Her  kimono 
tucked  above  her  dainty  ankles,  awash  in  the  green- 
reflected  water,  stood  Kiku. 

"Wish  me  a  lanternful  of  luck,  O  Kiku,"  cried 
Rennoske.  "I  go  to  the  contest." 

"A  lanternful  is  too  small,  Little  Warrior,"  she 
answered  demurely.  "Rather  let  my  good  wishes 
fill  a  temple.  May  the  chrysanthemum  of  thy  poem 
never  fade." 

"May  she  never,"  he  answered  smiling.  "For 
if  the  water  below  thee  were  still,  there  might  you 
see  her,  bright  and  yellow  as  the  sun,  O  Kiku." 

The  girl  hung  her  head,  blushing  again  at  the 
tender  play  upon  her  name.  Then,  stooping  quickly, 
her  hands  were  busy  among  the  rice  plants. 

"Would  that  I  might  come  with  you  to  the 
temple,"  she  whispered  without  looking  up. 

"Would  that  you  could,  and  farther,"  he  answered 
softly. 

She  did  not  look  up,  though  her  whirling  brain  was 
far  from  the  green  stalks  where  her  fingers  were  busy. 

"I  go,"  he  went  on.  "Know  that  thou  art  the 
flower  of  my  poem,  0  Kiku!" 

But  again  Kiku  did  not  reply,  whereupon  Ren- 
noske went  his  way,  wondering  upon  the  strange 
ways  of  women. 


92      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Kiku  tried  then  to  tell  him,  but  it  was  more  than 
her  trembling  lips  could  utter.  Still  the  tiny  fingers 
worked  on  among  the  green  stalks. 

A  tear  stole  down  her  cheek  and  splashed  in  the 
shallow  water.  She  felt,  as  it  was  so  quickly  lost, 
that  this  would  be  her  life,  her  grief,  but  the  tiniest 
drop  in  the  water  of  circumstance.  She  was  but  a 
girl  after  all  —  and  girls  had  no  right  to  opinions  or 
choice,  in  matters  of  love. 

Rennoske  kept  to  the  mountain  path  that  skirted 
the  edge  of  the  pine  belt  above  him. 

Below  the  road  ran  parallel,  and  between  it  and 
where  he  walked  the  slope  was  dotted  with  rice 
fields  and  cottages,  all  alike,  all  with  gardens  at 
the  back,  that  faced  the  south.  Oxen  labored  in 
the  mire;  tycoon-covered  heads  of  men,  the  bare 
heads  of  women,  their  glossy  hair  shining  in  the 
sun,  bobbed  up  and  down.  A  song  floated  to  him, 
now  and  then  mingling  with  the  splash  of  the 
water. 

By  noon  he  came  to  the  square  in  the  center  of 
the  village  of  Takenaka,  where  the  people  made 
merry  on  holidays.  He  saw  by  the  lack  of  shadow 
on  the  green  lawn  that  it  must  be  high  noon,  and 
struck  off  to  his  left  through  the  maples,  and  by  a 
short  cut  through  the  woods  reached  the  temple 
grounds. 

The  temple  itself  was  a  small  building,  boasting 


A    HALTED    VERSE    IN   A    POEM    93 

a  tiled  roof  with  upturning  eaves,  elaborately  painted 
and  carved.  The  sides  were  boarded  with  a  bril- 
liantly varnished  pine,  while  paper-covered  windows 
were  cut  in  the  front,  one  to  right  and  another  to 
the  left  of  two  swinging  doors  of  bamboo.  From 
under  these  came  the  steady  buzz  of  voices. 

When  Rennoske  entered  the  other  scholars  were 
already  there,  eleven  in  all,  with  quite  a  sprinkling 
of  fathers,  brothers,  grandfathers,  and  uncles,  all 
squatted  upon  the  board  floor.  The  old  priest  was 
standing  upon  the  single  step  below  the  shrine,  which 
stood  on  a  raised  platform. 

The  shrine  itself  was  but  a  rude  wooden  figure  of 
the  Fox  Goddess  Inari,  flanked  by  two  fantastic 
pictures  on  silk.  From  the  heavy  log  rafters  hung 
the  great  round  brass  gong  with  the  padded  stick 
attached  for  the  invocation  of  the  goddess. 

The  priest  saw  the  boy  enter  and  nodded  to  him, 
whereupon  Rennoske  bowed,  and  sat  down  in  the 
rear.  The  old  philosopher  began  a  long  discourse 
upon  the  muse  of  poetry,  and  the  important  place  it 
held  in  the  lives  of  all  true  subjects  of  the  Mikado 
and  true  children  of  the  Land  of  the  Rising  Sun. 
Graven  faces  looked  on  without  a  sign,  while  eager 
ears  drank  in  every  word. 

And  now  the  contest  was  begun  by  Tsunejuro, 
tenth  son  of  the  Cormorant  Fisher,  who  droned 
forth  "The  Shining  of  Torches  on  the  Still  Water." 


94      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Gentaro,  the  Wagoner's  son,  delivered  his  effort 
—  "The  Wild  Geese  Flying  Cross- Winged  Over  the 
Meadow."  One  by  one  the  boys  recited  their  five- 
syllable,  seven-syllable  verses  in  turn. 

At  length  the  old  priest  called  out:  "Little 
Warrior,  son  of  Miyoshi  the  Farmer,  who  will  deliver 
'A  Lone  Chrysanthemum  in  a  Garden  on  the 
Mountainside."1 

Rennoske  walked  majestically  to  the  space  before 
the  shrine,  beat  the  gong  thrice,  and  turned  to  face 
his  audience.  Every  one  commented  upon  his 
lofty  bearing.  The  other  boys  felt  the  prize  farther 
from  them.  The  old  priest  smiled.  The  boy  began. 

Almond  eyes  sparkled,  dull  brains  marveled. 
The  words  were  an  inspiration!  Had  another  poet 
like  the  great  Tsuriyuki  come  among  them? 

"The  daily  task  is  easy  when  the  golden  flower 
at  dawn  — " 

The  boy  stopped  dead,  and  a  titter  ran  about 
the  room. 

"It  is  not  finished,  my  son,"  whispered  the  old 
priest  anxiously.  "There  is  more.  Is  it  not  about 
the  joy  it  gives  thee?" 

But  never  a  word  answered  Rennoske.  The  boy's 
eyes  stared  straight  before  him,  the  while  a  childish 
smile  was  upon  his  lips.  There  was  no  pain  there, 
yet  the  face  was  a  blank  like  a  baby's. 

"The  sickness  is  upon  him,"  said  the  old  man,  as 


A    HALTED    VERSE    IN  A   POEM    95 

he  solemnly  held  up  his  hand.  "We  are  to  pity  and 
help  him,  for  his  mind  is  gifted.  Tsunejuro  and 
Gentaro,  fetch  thou  the  boy  home,  and  my  prayers 
shall  be  with  ye  both.  Thou  knowest  where  he 
bides." 

They  brought  Rennoske  home  between  them, 
an  arm  over  each  of  their  shoulders.  Miyoshi  they 
found  by  his  charcoal  fire  and  told  him  what  had 
happened. 

"Is  it  not  odd?  Is  it  not  strange?"  piped  the 
farmer  at  sight  of  the  lad.  "Thrice  have  I  seen 
him  thus;  like  a  stupid  babe  he  stares  and  knows 
us  not. 

"Come,  lad,"  and  he  took  Rennoske  by  the  hand, 
"lie  thou  in  the  house  till  this  shall  pass."  Then 
to  the  boys:  "I  thank  thee  both  for  thy  services. 
He  will  soon  be  well  again." 

The  boys  departed,  giving  each  other  sly  nudges 
and  strange  glances.  The  farmer  led  his  foster-son 
to  his  bed,  bade  him  lie  down,  and  placed  about 
him  a  folding  screen  of  paper. 

Then  the  old  man  sat  upon  his  door-step  and  thus 
mumbled  to  himself: 

"The  gods  do  strange  things  to  those  upon  the 
earth.  A  man  comes  to  me  with  a  roll  of  matting. 
The  matting  he  unrolls  and  discloses  this  lad,  lying 
there  frighted  half  to  death. 

"The  man  makes  me  swear  to  guard  this  lad  till 


96      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

he  be  sent  for.  I  fain  would  refuse  —  the  man  like 
a  tiger  threatens  me  with  haunting  after  death  — 
I  do  as  he  bids  me,  for  I  want  no  spirits  to  curse  my 
food  before  it  goes  adown  my  gullet  —  hei!  A  great 
lad,  a  hulking  lad  —  strong,  quick  —  a  help  to  me 
he  has  been. 

"The  man  who  brought  him  must  needs  keep  out 
of  my  dreams,  for  I  need  the  lad.  But  this  —  this 
—  this!"  Miyoshi's  voice  rose  to  a  high  falsetto. 
"To  stare  like  a  babe,  to  know  naught,  hei  —  it  is 
strange!  A  perfect  pot  with  a  cracked  lid,  a  fat  ox 
with  a  blind  eye  —  pish!  The  gods  have  made  a 
mistake  to  put  so  sour  a  wine  in  so  fine  a  cup.  Yet 
must  I  to  the  rice  fields.  Kiku  cannot  do  all  alone." 

And  Miyoshi  the  Farmer  strode  along  the  path, 
turning  the  strangeness  of  it  over  and  over  in  his 
mind;  yet  no  conclusion  could  he  come  to. 

Kiku  San  saw  him  coming,  and  quickly  dried  her 
eyes. 


Chapter  IX 

Yellow  Light  through  the  Shoji 
Walls 

A  JAPANESE   boy,  oval   of  face,  knotty   of      > 
limb,    full-lipped    and    almond-eyed,    took 
down  the  last  paper  shutter  of  the  cottage 
on  the  tiny  plateau.     The  air  was  chill,  for  the  sun 
had  not  yet  shown  its  red  rim  over  the  distant  fir- 
clad  hills. 

He  hummed  to  himself  as  he  laid  the  frame  in  its 
wooden  box,  for  there  was  a  tinge  of  autumn  in  the 
air  that  set  his  blood  tingling.  He  went  to  the 
brick  stove,  set  the  kettle  on  the  fire,  and  squatted 
upon  the  ground  to  watch  the  water  boil. 

When  the  steam  sang  through  the  spout,  he  called 
to  his  foster-father,  and,  when  answered,  rolled  the 
tub  near  the  fire.  Then  he  took  his  ax  and  walked 
a  hundred  yards  or  so  up  the  slope  behind  the  house. 
He  selected  a  fine  young  pine,  and  soon  the  steady 
chop  of  his  blows  resounded  through  the  early 
morning  stillness,  waking  up  the  birds,  who  chirped 
him  a  gay  good-morning. 


98      THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

A  year  had  passed  in  that  mountainside  shoji  — 
a  year  of  many  happenings.  As  the  farmer  had 
predicted,  the  soldiers  of  the  Matsuyama  had  come 
and  taken  three-quarters  of  the  rice  crop. 

Miyoshi  had  unwittingly  protested,  whereupon 
he  was  rewarded  by  a  kick  in  the  groin  that  had  left 
him  limping  throughout  the  winter.  Rennoske  had 
not  seen  the  black-armored  men,  for  he  was  afield 
with  Kiku. 

The  sight  of  the  farmer,  groaning  and  kick- 
ing on  the  floor,  had  set  a  new  feeling  coursing 
through  the  boy's  blood.  He  hated  himself  for  a 
week  after,  for  he  had  been  doing  less  work  in 
the  fields  than  he  should  have,  having  whiled  away 
most  of  the  time  with  pretty  speeches  for  Kiku's 
ears. 

"A  little  less  play  with  a  girl,"  he  muttered  scorn- 
fully to  himself.  "An  hour  quicker  to  return  home, 
and  I  might  have  sent  these  blood  sucking  fiends 
rolling  down  the  hill." 

He  had  great  confidence  in  his  own  strength,  this 
nineteen-year-old  boy.  The  fact  that  he  had  never 
seen  a  soldier  and  was  unarmed  never  entered  his 
head  at  all.  The  soldiers  kicked  his  foster-father  — 
hei!  Offending  soldiers  were  to  be  picked  up  about 
the  waist  and  flung  like  quoits  down  the  hillside. 
It  was  easy  —  at  nineteen. 

But  the  resolve  to  play  less  with  girls  did  not  long 


THROUGH   THE    SHOJI    WALLS    99 

remain  a  reality.  Kiku  smiled  so  prettily  when  he 
spoke,  or  cast  down  her  head  with  a  blush. 

Once  again  neither  old  Japan  nor  a  hard  winter 
made  any  difference.  Kiku  was  a  girl  —  dainty, 
sweet,  pretty.  Miyoshi  frowned  on  their  being 
together  much,  so  what  could  be  more  natural  than 
that  they  should  be  together  at  every  chance  they 
could.  We  are  still  to  remember,  Rennoske  was 
nineteen ! 

On  this  particular  morning  we  find  him  chopping 
down  the  young  pine  tree,  his  head  was  full  of  Kiku 
San.  Why  not?  The  birds  sang  "Why  not?"  The 
ax  thudded  "Why  not?"  He  thought  so  himself. 

At  last  the  tree  was  down,  and  he  spent  a  joyful 
fifteen  minutes  sending  it  scampering  down  the  hill. 
He  bathed  in  the  tub,  dressed  again,  and,  hungry, 
he  squatted  on  the  floor  of  the  cottage  before  the 
traylike  table,  waiting  for  breakfast. 

Now  he  could  have  eaten  three  more  bowls  of  the 
millet;  but  he  knew  there  was  no  more.  What  did 
that  matter?  He  hated  to  see  Kiku  pick  up  those 
last  few  grains  with  her  chopsticks  and  scrape  her 
bowl.  The  sight  made  his  resolve  of  the  woods  all 
the  stronger. 

"I  must  hie  me  to  the  fishing  village  this  day  ere 
the  sun  grows  hot,"  explained  Miyoshi  after  the 
meal.  "There  is  a  junk  in  the  water  I  would  see." 

Kiku  sniffed,  whereupon  her  father  scowled  at  her. 


TOO    THE    TURN    OF    THE. SWORD 

Rennoske  wondered  at  this,  but  said  nothing.  His 
duty  called  him  to  the  rice  fields,  so  thither  he  went 
with  a  light  heart,  as  light  as  his  stomach  was  empty. 

His  feet  had  not  been  long  in  the  water  before 
Kiku  came  to  help  him.  They  worked  in  silence 
side  by  side,  the  thing  that  trembled  on  the  boy's 
lips  shut  his  mouth  as  those  things  will  —  at  nineteen. 

At  first  the  lad  thought  it  nothing;  but  the  sound 
beside  him,  often  repeated,  made  him  look  closely 
at  the  girl.  She  must  have  felt  his  gaze,  for  the 
sniffing  changed  to  a  soft  sob.  Yet  her  tiny  fingers 
worked  on. 

"Gentlest  flower,"  asked  Rennoske  then,  "why 
dost  thou  grieve?  Grieve  not  now,  for  I  am  happy, 
and  it  is  because  of  thee  I  am  so." 

"Do  you  know,  O  Little  Warrior,"  she  faltered, 
"why  my  father  goes  this  day  to  the  fishing  village 
of  Boruku?" 

This  was  irrelevance  indeed.     He  answered: 

"Perhaps  for  fish  —  perhaps  for  dried  seaweed. 
Aught  else  ? " 

Kiku  did  not  answer,  bending  her  head  over  the 
nodding  stalks.  The  boy  heard  her  sob  again.  Why 
should  she  sob?  Hei!  Was  this  time  for  weeping? 
The  sun  shone  bright,  the  birds  sang  —  her  father 
went  to  the  fishing  village,  and  she  wept.  Surely 
a  maid  was  a  strange,  timid  thing! 

He  kept  his  peace  for  an  hour  or  two,  but  it  would 


THROUGH   THE    SHOJI    WALLS    101 

not  down.  He  tried,  faltered,  and  failed;  and  so 
the  morning  and  the  afternoon  wore  on,  while  they 
worked  there  in  the  sunlight,  side  by  side. 

"Gentlest  flower,"  he  said  at  last,  "thou  and  I 
have  spent  many  happy  hours  together.  We  have 
wandered  hand  in  hand  by  the  mountain  torrent, 
and  seen  the  spray  rise  pearly  in  the  moonlight. 
We  have  chased  each  other  in  the  woods,  happy  in 
our  childhood. 

"Of  thee  have  I  been  ever  fond,  Kiku  San,  and  to 
prove  I  speak  truly  I  will  ask  thy  father  for  thy  hand 
in  marriage.  Then  will  I  really  be  his  son,  then  shall 
I  truly  take  his  name  to  protect  him  from  the  soldiers 
in  his  age,  to  be  a  help  always.  The  spirit  of  the  now 
blessed  man  who  brought  me  hither  comes  to  me  in 
my  dreams  and  tells  me  thou  art  to  be  my  wife. 
Art  thou  willing,  Kiku  San?" 

"Aye,"  answered  the  girl,  "willing  as  the  mountain 
torrent  to  rush  toward  the  sea." 

"Then,  why  weepest  thou?"  the  boy  insisted. 
"I  am  here.  I  would  be  ever  at  thy  side.  Tell  me, 
why  weepest  thou,  gentlest  flower?" 

"Have  I  not  said,"  cried  the  girl  petulantly,  "that 
my  father  went  this  day  to  the  fishing  village  ?  And 
it  is  not  for  the  dried  seaweed,  Little  Warrior,  not 
for  the  dried  seaweed ! " 

She  burst  into  tears. 

"Why,  then?    Tell  me,  O  Kiku.    How  dares  any 


102     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

one  hurt  thee?"  the  boy  spoke  imperiously.  "They 
shall  answer  to  the  Fifty  for  this.  Not  one  shall 
remain  living  upon  the — " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  not  realizing  the  purport  of 
his  own  words.  The  girl,  too,  stared  at  him  through 
her  tears.  Then,  looking  over  his  shoulder,  she  cried 
out: 

"See  —  even  now  he  comes!" 

Dressed  in  his  black,  feast-day  kimono,  half 
covered  by  a  cheap  silk  haori  of  gray  silk,  picking 
his  steps  in  the  unaccustomed  straw  sandals,  Ren- 
noske  saw  Miyoshi.  Behind  him  stalked  a  tall  man 
in  a  robe  of  bright  blue  with  a  scarlet  sash. 

His  head  was  bare  and  newly  shaved,  his  topknot 
dressed  elaborately.  As  he  approached  Rennoske 
noticed  that  his  face  was  dark  from  exposure  to  the 
sun,  his  little  nose  was  turned  up  and  pointed,  and 
his  eyes  snapped  and  glowed  with  health  under  high 
brows.  Rennoske  wondered  who  he  might  be, 
Kiku's  "Even  now  he  comes"  echoing  in  his  ears. 

"Why  comest  thou  not  hither  and  quickly?" 
snapped  Miyoshi  to  his  silent,  motionless  daughter. 
"Thinkest  thou  we  shall  come  to  thee,  minx?" 

Kiku  stepped  awkwardly  out  of  the  ditch,  and 
with  a  little  hop  prostrated  herself  before  the  man  in 
blue.  With  unassumed  grace  he  bowed  profoundly 
to  her,  while  a  scornful  smile  lit  up  his  face,  showing 
a  row  of  white,  even  teeth. 


THROUGH    THE    SHOJI    WALLS    103 

Then,  as  the  girl  rose,  he  brought  from  the  sleeve 
of  his  kimono  a  branch  of  cherry  blossoms  and 
handed  them  to  her  with  another  low  bow.  Ren- 
noske,  watching  open-eyed,  saw  the  spray  but  touch 
Kiku's  fingers. 

Even  from  where  he  stood  he  saw  the  fire  that 
blazed  from  her  eyes.  With  a  swift  movement  of 
her  tiny  arm,  she  dashed  the  branch  to  the  ground, 
scattering  to  the  wind  the  artificial  petals  of  pink. 

Miyoshi  gasped.  The  man  in  blue  stared  open- 
mouthed.  Rennoske,  scarcely  knowing  what  he 
did,  sprang  out  of  the  ditch. 

Hesitating  but  for  an  instant,  the  girl  stamped  her 
foot,  screamed  with  rage,  then  turned  and  ran  toward 
the  house,  leaving  the  three  men  to  stare  at  one 
another. 

"How  now,  my  son?"  said  Miyoshi,  finding  his 
voice.  "Hast  thou  filled  my  daughter's  head  with 
frippery  with  thy  smooth  tongue  that  she  should 
act  like  a  disobedient  jade?  What  means  this 
outburst?" 

Rennoske  knew  what  it  meant,  or  thought  he  did. 
He  had  spoken  of  love  and  marriage  to  the  girl.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  he  had  been  accepted.  So  out 
he  blurted  boldly: 

"I  have  filled  the  head  of  thy  daughter  with 
naught  that  is  dishonorable,  O  my  father!  It  is 
meet  she  refuses  the  blossoms,  for  I  have  asked  her 


104    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

hand  in  marriage,  and  she  would  have  no  man  but 
me,  nor  I  any  woman  but  her.  It  is  simple." 

"God  of  the  Sea!"  roared  the  man  in  blue.  "Thou 
hast  played  me  false,  Miyoshi  the  Farmer!  Thou 
shalt  answer  for  this!" 

Miyoshi  at  first  dropped  his  jaw  and  opened  his 
eyes  in  utter  amazement.  He  stood  in  this  mood 
for  a  second  or  two,  when  another  light  came  into  his 
eyes.  His  chest  heaved  slightly;  then  fast  it  moved 
up  and  down,  till,  opening  his  mouth,  the  sound  of 
his  laughter  rang  out. 

"Hei  —  ho,  ho!"  he  roared,  shaking.  "My 
daughter  married  to  thee,  thou  hulking  boy?  And 
what  wilt  thou  give  her?  Where  wilt  thou  bring 
her  if  it  could  be?  It  can  never  be  while  this 
man  lives  —  for  to  him  she  is  betrothed,  thou  silly 
lad." 

"Betrothed!"  said  Rennoske  in  a  far-away  voice. 
"Betrothed?" 

Then,  with  a  gurgling  sound  in  his  throat,  he  fell 
heavily  forward  on  his  face  upon  the  ground. 

"God  of  the  Sea!"  cried  the  man  in  blue  with 
blanched  cheeks,  "I  know  death  when  it  comes. 
Thy  words  have  killed  the  boy." 

"It  is  even  as  I  thought  when  he  first  fell  so," 
answered  the  farmer.  "It  is  but  a  sickness  he  hath 
that  comes  at  odd  times  upon  him.  Sometimes 
he  falls  as  dead  even  as  he  did  this  moment;  but 


THROUGH    THE    SHOJI    WALLS    105 

mostly  he  stares  like  a  babe  at  naught  and  knows 
us  not.  Do  not  heed  him,  Osaki;  he  knew  not  of 
thee.  Come,  give  me  a  hand  with  him.  So,  thou 
hast  his  arms.  Hei!  It  is  strange  how  he  came 
among  us." 

"How  was  that?"  asked  Osaki  as  they  carried  the 
limp  figure  to  the  house. 

Miyoshi  told  him  of  the  coming  and  the  death  of 
Hida. 

"But  I  cannot  send  him  hence,"  the  farmer 
explained  as  he  passed  the  first  of  the  round  stone 
wells.  "The  dead  man's  eyes  come  to  me  in  my 
dreams  when  I  but  think  to  do  so.  His  spirit 
watched  o'er  the  boy;  he  must  be  blessed." 

"Yet  an  oath  is  an  oath,  Miyoshi  the  Farmer," 
said  Osaki,  as  they  passed  under  the  cherry  trees. 

"And  shall  remain  sacred,  O  Osaki!"  said  Miyo- 
shi as  they  entered  the  house. 

He  laid  Rennoske  as  before  upon  his  bedding  and 
placed  the  screen  about  him.  Then,  with  a  signifi- 
cant look  at  his  daughter,  who  cowered  by  one  of  the 
corner  posts,  he  snapped: 

"  Remember  thou  art  but  a  girl,  hence  thou  must 
obey.  To  thy  task,  and  quickly,  wench  —  Isoge!" 

Quickly  Kiku  went,  toddling  out  of  the  house  and 
down  the  path  to  the  rice  fields.  Soon  her  fingers 
were  busy,  and  for  a  while  her  tears  fell  into  the 
water  that  washed  about  her  dainty  ankles. 


io6     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Osaki  —  her  betrothed  —  forsooth !  She  hated 
him  —  she  would  not  marry  him.  There  must  be 
some  way  out  of  that? 

She  dashed  the  tears  from  her  eyes  and  stood  up, 
thinking.  After  all,  there  had  been  no  word  of  that. 
He  had  only  given  her  the  blossoms  of  betrothal. 
She  had  refused  them. 

That  thought  gave  her  courage  —  she  could  do  so 
again.  Thinking  on,  she  decided  against  it.  She 
must  be  wily  and  cunning,  she  must  listen  and  find 
out  what  was  in  the  wind.  And  Rennoske? 

His  words  came  quickly  back  to  her.  In  fancy 
she  saw  him  again  standing  beside  her. 

How  strong,  how  noble  he  looked!  His  short 
pinafore  was  gray  and  dirty  —  it  was  not  so  to  her. 
His  words  were  slow  and  bashful  —  they  did  not 
seem  so  to  her.  How  different  from  this  silk-clad, 
perfumed  sailor! 

The  sickness  —  that  brought  forth  another  tender 
thought.  What  were  sicknesses  to  her?  Would  not 
she  pray  to  all  the  gods  to  clear  his  mind  from  that? 
Could  she  not  help  him  and  work  for  him  day  by 
day? 

Osaki,  hunter  of  the  seal,  cold,  sneering,  scorn- 
ful Osaki.  He  her  betrothed  —  out  upon  it!  All 
the  laws  and  all  the  vows  —  aye,  all  the  fathers 
upon  earth  —  could  not  make  her  be  his  wife.  She, 
Kiku  San,  loved  Rennoske,  and  he  —  oh,  divinely 


THROUGH    THE    SHOJI    WALLS    107 

tender,  or  gloriously  beautiful,  thought! — he  loved 
her! 

The  sun  set  and  Kiku  toddled  home  again  as 
her  father,  her  mother,  and  Osaki  were  sitting  down 
to  supper.  There  was  bean-curd  soup,  raw  carp, 
rice,  and  bamboo  sprouts,  all  the  gifts  of  Osaki;  but 
not  for  Kiku.  A  bowl  of  millet  was  plenty  for  a  dis- 
obedient girl.  She  was  made  to  go  to  bed  before 
the  drinking  bout  of  hot  sakkee  before  the  meal 
was  over,  while  her  father  and  her  betrothed  ate, 
drank,  and  played  chess  in  the  light  of  six  paper 
lanterns  brought  out  for  the  occasion. 

She  lay  there  for  hours  behind  the  walls  of  paper, 
her  mother  asleep  beside  her.  Her  sleek,  black 
hair,  its  dressing  undisturbed  by  the  pillow  of  wood, 
while  her  tired  little  body  lay  stretched  out  upon  the 
wadded  bedding.  Soon  her  father's  voice,  slightly 
raised  in  tone  from  the  effects  of  the  wine,  came  to 
her  listening  ears: 

"Thinkest  thou,  Osaki,  I  have  been  false  to  the 
vow  I  and  thy  father  made  when  thou  and  my 
daughter  were  but  children?  Did  not  we  swear  by 
the  blessed  spirits  of  our  ancestors  — " 

"May  they  ever  guard  and  keep  us  from  all 
harm,"  interrupted  Osaki's  voice. 

"Aye,"  the  farmer  went  on,  "by  thine  ancestors 
and  mine  did  we  swear  that  my  daughter  should  be 
brought  a  bride  to  thy  house  while  we  burned  the 


io8     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

funeral  fire  outside  our  gate  and  gave  her  the  robe  of 
white  to  signify  she  was  dead  to  us,  and  shall  be 
borne  from  thee  only  as  a  corpse.  Thus  did  we 
swear,  Osaki." 

"But  the  boy?"  came  Osaki's  voice  again.  "He 
said  thy  daughter  would  have  none  but  him,  and  he 
none  but  her.  Thy  daughter  may  refuse  my  first 
gift.  I  cannot  force  her  to  be  my  wife,  nor  will  I." 

Kiku  San  heard  her  father  guffaw. 

"And  why  dost  thou  pay  heed  to  him,  Osaki? 
Is  he  not  my  adopted  son,  and  must  he  not  obey  me 
in  all  things?  Moreover,  were  shoji  to  be  had  for 
the  price  of  a  fish-hook,  he  could  not  purchase  him- 
self a  thatch  roof. 

"A  penniless  boy  that  is  dependent  upon  me  for 
his  millet!  Let  thy  fear  sink  in  the  sea,  Osaki. 
My  daughter  shall  be  thy  bride.  She  shall  obey 
thy  mother  as  a  wife  should.  I  am  firm  as  Fujiyama 
upon  that." 

"Listen,  then,  O  Farmer  of  the  Three  Wells." 
Osaki's  voice  came  soft  and  low.  "  I  go  tomorrow  to 
the  cold  and  distant  land  of  Yezo.  Thither  I  go  and 
farther  to  hunt  the  seal.  Then  shall  I  bring  back 
many  pelts  and  sell  them.  When  the  cherry  blossoms 
are  on  the  trees  again,  when  the  nightingale  sings  in 
the  fir  trees,  then  will  I  return  for  my  bride." 

"Many  yen  for  thy  sealskins,"  chuckled  Miyoshi. 
"It  is  a  bargain  then,  Osaki.  Let  us  drink." 


THROUGH   THE    SHOJI    WALLS     109 

"Let  us  drink,  then,"  Osaki  answered;  "my 
father-in-law  that  is  to  be." 

Kiku  heard  the  clink  of  the  cups  and  drew  a  tiny 
hand  across  her  eyes.  But  it  was  not  to  shut  out 
the  light  that  came  yellow  through  the  paper  shoji 
walls. 


Chapter  X 

The  Wish  for  the  Second 
Sword 

RENNOSKE,  hereditary  Daimyo  of  the  prov- 
ince, feudal  lord  of  old  Japan,  awoke  from 
his  trancelike  sleep  an  hour  before  the  dawn. 
He  knew  neither  his  title  nor  his  heritage. 

He  remembered  clearly  that  he  was  the  adopted 
son  of  Miyoshi  the  Farmer,  and  also  why  he  had 
been  ill  again. 

Kiku  San,  his  little  foster-sister,  the  companion 
of  his  boyhood,  was  the  betrothed  of  the  man  in 
blue.  So  much  for  that  and  the  sting  of  it. 

Another  thing  was  knocking  at  the  gate  of  his 
brain  —  a  strange  desire.  At  first  he  could  not 
fathom  it;  but  as  he  lay  there  it  came  to  him  so 
clearly,  so  forcibly,  that  he  must  needs  pay  it  some 
attention. 

The  desire  was  to  take  his  sword  and  dash  out  the 
brains  of  Osaki,  shake  it  threateningly  at  Miyoshi, 
pick  up  Kiku  San  under  his  arm  and  carry  her 


WISH    FOR    SECOND    SWORD     in 

through  all  the  land  of  Nippon  till  he  had  found  his 
kin  and  his  birthright,  claim  her  as  his  bride  before 
all,  marry  her,  and  live  a  life  of  ease  and  plenty. 
Always  a  sword! 

So  strong  was  the  instinct  that  he  sat  up  and  felt 
beside  him.  There  was  no  sword  there.  What 
wild  fancy  was  it  that  made  him  think  he  had  one? 
Where  had  he  ever  seen  one?  Not  since  he  had 
been  here  under  this  roof?  It  must  have  been  in 
that  other  boyhood,  that  boyhood  that  came  now 
and  then  in  strange  flashes. 

Yes,  he  was  sure  of  it  now,  a  long  sword  he  had, 
the  handle  inlaid  with  gold.  He  would  have  it 
again  —  then  let  him  beware,  this  man  in  blue ! 

All  this  was  lost  again  in  the  usual  morning  bath, 
wood-cutting,  and  the  rest  till  breakfast  came. 
That,  thanks  be  to  the  gods,  was  plentiful  enough 
on  account  of  the  guest. 

"I  fear  I  cannot  go  with  thee  to  the  ship,"  said 
Miyoshi  during  the  meal.  "My  side  pains  me  and 
the  walk  is  far,  yet  Kiku  should  not  go  alone." 

"Yet  what  of  the  garments,  my  gifts  to  thee?" 
said  the  sailor.  "A  juban  of  silk,  a  wadded  shitagi 
for  the  winter,  and  an  obi  of  yellow  for  my  betrothed, 
if  she  will  deign  to  accept  my  gift.  Then  there  is 
seaweed,  bamboo,  and  spiced  ginger,  all  in  a  great 
box.  Who  shall  fetch  them?" 

"Cannot  the  boy  go?"  said  the  farmer. 


ii2     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Osaki  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  showed  his  teeth 
in  an  insolent  smile. 

"Is  he  strong  enough?"  he  said  with  a  sneer.  "I 
would  not  have  him  lie  by  the  roadside  for  the  girl 
to  drag  home." 

It  was  in  Rennoske's  mind  to  tell  the  sailor  that 
he  was  strong  enough  to  thrust  his  words  along  his 
throat.  Yet  he  choked  his  choler  and  answered 
firmly : 

"I  am  willing  to  carry  aught  that  you  desire,  my 
father." 

The  farmer  and  Osaki  exchanged  glances  that 
said  plainly:  "He  has  changed  his  tune." 

Osaki  sneered  and  poohed,  yet  the  upshot  of  the 
affair  was  that  the  boy  was  to  go  along. 

Kiku  dressed  in  her  best  traveling-robe  of  brown. 
All  morning  she  was  meek  and  docile,  a  sight  that 
made  her  father  congratulate  himself  on  the  effect 
of  his  discipline.  Osaki  was  pleased  to  observe  that 
she  had  not  refused  the  offer  of  the  sash. 

At  about  eight  o'clock  the  trio  started  off  down  the 
zigzag  path  down  the  mountainside.  Kiku  and 
Osaki  walked  ahead,  while  Rennoske,  still  in  his 
short  kimono,  sash,  and  trunks,  his  sinewy  legs  bare 
from  mid-thigh  to  foot,  trailed  on  behind. 

The  boy  was  living  keenly  in  every  inch  of  his 
frame,  his  senses  alert,  for  this  was  his  first  long 
trip  out  into  the  world;  a  jaunt  to  the  temple,  or 


WISH    FOR  SECOND    SWORD      113 

an  hour  or  two  of  play  at  Takenaka,  having  been 
all  he  had  ever  known  before.  He  drank  deep  of 
every  sound,  sight,  and  smell. 

The  road  led  him  along  the  base  of  the  mountain- 
side. On  his  right  were  dense  woods  on  rising 
ground,  the  trees  mostly  pine,  fir,  and  cedar,  with 
here  and  there  a  maple.  The  roof  of  a  cottage  poked 
above  the  green,  another  showed  in  a  green  hollow, 
while  the  blue  smoke  from  a  round  hut  filtered 
through  the  cool  shade. 

These  he  knew  were  the  homes  of  wood-cutters 
and  charcoal-burners  mostly,  children  of  the  forest. 
To  his  left  the  scene  was  as  if  he  looked  upon  his  own 
home,  for  there  were  the  dikes  of  the  rice  fields,  like 
steps  of  a  stair,  the  heads  of  the  workers  bobbing 
up  and  down.  Behind,  where  the  mountain  towered, 
a  tiny  cottage  perched  here  and  there  like  swal- 
lows' nests. 

By  noon  they  reached  the  fork  in  the  road.  On 
the  left  it  led  up  to  the  village  of  Takenaka,  whose 
roofs  showed  every  shade  and  tint  of  brown  above 
the  green  of  the  trees  and  the  gray  of  the  granite 
boulders  that  stuck  up  out  of  the  earth,  resembling 
a  miniature  Gibraltar.  They  took  the  other  road, 
Osaki  and  the  girl,  the  one  to  the  right,  and  the  boy 
followed  on. 

This  path  —  for  it  was  no  more  than  a  thin,  brown 
rut  through  the  fallen  leaves  of  the  forest  —  wound 


ii4    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

in  and  out  of  black  bogs  and  pools  of  stagnant 
water. 

Rennoske  saw  mystery  in  everything.  The  fine 
tracery  of  a  spider's  web,  the  scarlet  of  sumac,  a 
swooping  hawk  upon  a  robin  —  everything  had  so 
much  interest  for  him  that  he  forgot  the  man  and 
girl  who  were  his  guides.  He  was  surprised,  there- 
fore, to  come  upon  Osaki  and  Kiku,  standing  upon 
the  moss  and  fern-grown  bank  of  a  swollen  stream 
that  rushed,  foam-white,  and  tumbling  to  a  roaring 
fall,  some  fifty  yards  below. 

"Look  thee,  boy!"  said  the  sailor  authoritatively 
as  he  came  up.  "Thou  seest  yonder  log  that  lieth 
one  end  in  this  stream.  It  should  be  our  bridge, 
for  yesterday  I  crossed  it.  Now,  as  thou  seest,  it 
hath  tumbled  into  the  stream,  and  we  cannot  cross." 

The  seal-hunter  looked  Rennoske  squarely  in 
the  eye,  his  own  with  the  light  of  mischief  in  them. 
Then  the  brows  came  up,  the  lips  parted,  and  the 
scornful  smile  was  in  the  even  teeth.  He  went  on: 

"Thou,  my  mighty  lad,  hast  on  no  sandals. 
Were  I  the  same,  could  I  ford  this  trickle  and  lift 
yonder  log  to  its  place  upon  the  bank.  But  the 
way  is  slippery;  the  torrent  rushes  free  to  sweep 
from  under  them  the  feet  of  those  who  dare  brave 
its  foaming  rush. 

"Thou  hast  not  the  strength  nor  the  courage 
for  such  a  deed,  I  fear;  so  it  must  be  that  I  shall 


WISH    FOR  SECOND    SWORD      115 

do  it,  since  thou  art  afraid.  Boys  were  not  so  when 
I  was  one." 

And  Osaki  sat  down  upon  the  bank  and  untied 
his  sandal. 

Every  one  of  the  seal-hunter's  words  struck  Ren- 
noske  like  a  whip-lash.  "Some  talk  while  others 
do,  Osaki,"  he  answered.  "Thou  shalt  walk  dry- 
shod  upon  the  bank."  Then  he  leaped  into  the 
stream. 

Kiku  screamed  and  ran  to  the  edge.  Osaki, 
shooting  out  his  arm,  caught  her  by  the  kimono- 
sleeve  and  held  her.  He  slowly  let  his  eyes  wander 
to  the  stream,  and  smiled  at  the  struggling  lad  in 
the  water. 

"Hei!"  he  muttered.  "Thus  will  the  child  of 
Nowhere  be  swept  back  to  Nowhere.  Thus  do  the 
waters  serve  me  as  they  have  ever  done.  Squirm 
and  twist,  wondrous  boy!  Call  now  to  the  spirit 
that  watches  o'er  thee.  So  does  he  hear,  O  Kiku 
San?" 

And  Osaki  laughed  softly  to  himself. 

"The  spirit  hears,  Osaki!"  cried  Kiku,  her  breath 
coming  fast.  "See  —  he  gains  the  bank  —  a  little 
farther,  Little  Warrior  —  on,  on  —  See,  Osaki  — 
he  stands  firm!" 

Rennoske,  instinctively  balancing  himself  with 
outstretched  arms,  was  indeed  nearing  the  opposite 
bank.  The  white  water  lashed  itself  into  a  foam 


ii6    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

about  his  hips,  making  a  "  V"  of  calm  water  on  either 
side  of  his  waist.  Slowly  he  felt  his  way  on  uncertain 
feet  to  where  the  log  lay,  and  the  most  difficult 
part  of  his  task  awaited  him,  for  he  must  lift  the  log 
out  of  the  water  and  raise  it  high  above  his  head. 

And  now  the  rippling-muscled  arms  encircled  the 
wet  wood,  the  nails  of  his  fingers  dug  deep  into 
the  slimy  bark.  Slowly  the  torrent  gave  it  up,  while 
the  veins  stood  out  on  the  boy's  forehead  like  whip- 
cords. 

He  heard  Kiku  scream  again  as  his  foot  slipped 
upon  the  bottom.  He  was  ofF  his  balance  now, 
his  arms  no  longer  keeping  him  from  falling.  He 
knew  he  must  go  with  the  current.  This  he  thought 
in  that  minutest  fraction  of  a  second,  while  he  felt 
the  sole  of  his  foot  slide  along  the  stone;  then  his 
heel  caught  between  two  other  stones  behind  it. 

Panting  now  with  the  effort,  with  a  mighty  heave 
the  log  came  free  from  the  water  and  thumped 
sodden,  dripping  a  thousand  bright  drops  upon  the 
soft,  black  earth  of  the  bank. 

"Well  done,  brother!"  That  from  Kiku  was  his 
reward. 

"Hold  it  now  till  we  pass  over!"  called  Osaki. 
He  picked  up  the  girl  in  his  arms,  and  planting  his 
feet  firmly  on  the  log,  he  started  to  cross  the  crazy 
bridge. 

But  wo  to  those  who  hold  their  own  deeds  so 


WISH  FOR    SECOND   SWORD       117 

highly,  and  look  so  lightly  upon  the  deeds  of  others. 
About  midway  between  the  banks  Osaki,  the  sure- 
footed, slipped. 

He  uttered  a  yell  of  dismay,  and  the  instinct  of 
self-preservation  strong  within  him,  he  threw  out 
his  arms  to  right  himself,  while  the  girl  tumbled 
into  the  stream  that  boiled  and  hissed  below. 

But  Rennoske  had  seen  the  plight  of  his  "gentlest 
flower"  none  too  soon.  He  caught  the  girl  in  his 
outstretched  arms.  When  he  looked  up,  Osaki 
was  on  the  bank  above  him,  holding  out  his  arms. 

"Quick,  boy!'*  he  called.  "Give  me  the  girl  ere 
the  current  sweep  you  both  away ! " 

Rennoske,  in  that  swift  moment,  saw  every  detail 
of  the  scene  about  him.  There  was  the  bank,  black- 
soiled  and  fern-grown.  Behind  it  the  dark,  cool 
forest  of  pine,  fir,  and  maple,  stretched  away  in 
long  aisles  of  black  shadow,  and  sunlit  patch. 

There  before  him  stooped  the  man  in  blue  with 
the  scarlet  sash.  Rennoske  looked  squarely  into 
his  terror-stricken  eyes. 

"And  what  if  it  did,  Osaki?"  he  asked  calmly. 
"Where  wouldst  thou  be,  and  thy  boasting  and  thy 
bragging  and  thy  belittling  of  me  in  her  eyes? 
Fooled  Osaki,  hei,  how  he  trembles!  Thou  art 
fooled,  Osaki,  braggart  and  little-hearted  man! 
See,  we  go!" 

"Nay,  nay,  nay!"    Osaki  screamed,  his  mouth 


ii8     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

working  horribly.  "Give  me  the  girl!  Thou  ser- 
pent's brat!  Thou  unknown,  nameless  dog!  Give 
me  the  girl!" 

Rennoske  laughed  in  the  seal-hunter's  face. 

"Take  her,  then,  white-livered  fisherman!"  he 
scoffed.  "Take  her,  and  that  will  stop  thy  quaking. 
So  —  carefully,  for  she  hath  swooned." 

Rennoske  stood  dripping  upon  the  bank.  "What 
thinkest  thou  of  the  boys  of  nowadays?"  he  mut- 
tered. "Were  they  so  when  thou  wert  one?" 

"I  shall  tell  the  deed  at  my  wedding,  boy.  Wilt 
thou  be  there?" 

There  was  a  changed  Osaki  that  led  the  way 
through  the  rest  of  the  forest.  They  reached  a 
white  sandy  road  through  a  salt  marsh  in  another 
half-hour's  walk. 

Rennoske  came  behind  the  sailor  and  the  now 
chatting  and  laughing  girl,  swinging  along  with  all 
the  swagger  of  a  wandering  swashbuckler. 

As  the  salt  air  tinged  his  nostrils  he  wished  for 
more  rushing  torrents  to  ford,  more  maidens  to 
rescue.  Out  of  pure  excess  of  youthful  spirits  he 
ran  ahead,  gave  a  cry  as  he  leaped  high  in  the  air, 
turned,  and  landed  on  his  palms,  and  sprang  back 
again  with  the  agility  of  a  cat. 

"Where  learned  you  that  cry?"  asked  Osaki, 
puzzled. 

"'Twas  the  first  that  came  to  my  lips,"  answered 


WISH    FOR  SECOND    SWORD      119 

the  boy.  "Hast  thou  heard  it  before?  Tell  me 
where,  Osaki?" 

But  Osaki's  face  was  like  stone,  while  his  eyes 
blazed  upon  the  face  of  the  boy.  He  did  remember 
the  cry  —  remembered  it  as  coming  from  the  lips 
of  a  Samurai  upon  a  charging  pony  as  he  cut  his 
way  through  a  mob  of  rebellious  fishermen. 

Osaki's  eyes  blazed,  for  he  knew  his  rival  to  be 
no  witless  boy,  but  a  foe  worthy  of  his  steel.  What 
he  was  remained  a  mystery.  Yet  he  was  more  than 
the  adopted  son  of  Miyoshi  the  Farmer.  That  he 
knew  —  and  dreaded. 

The  semicircle  of  the  fishers'  huts  came  into  view 
through  the  grass.  A  little  farther,  and  the  sea 
stretched  out  before  them,  green,  blue,  and  gold. 
At  the  end  of  a  single  sandspit  the  square  sail 
of  a  junk  was  silhouetted  against  the  dazzling 
water. 

"See!"  cried  Osaki,  pointing  to  it.  "There  floats 
my  Maya  Maru.  A  brave  ship  that  fears  neither 
the  ice  of  the  north  nor  the  typhoons  of  the  southern 
seas.  Thou  shouldst  be  a  sailor,  boy.  They  are 
the  doers  of  brave  deeds." 

"Gladly  would  I  be  one,  then,"  answered  Ren- 
noske.  "Yet  I  fear  my  father  would  not  have  me 
go.  The  man  who  brought  me  bid  him  keep  me 
until  'they'  should  come  for  me." 

"And  who  are  'they'?"   queried  Osaki,  frowning. 


120    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"So  —  that  I  know  not,"  answered  Rennoske. 
"See  the  strange  birds!" 

The  boy's  eye  had  been  caught  by  four  cormorant 
fishers  who  were  taking  the  ungainly  birds  out  of 
their  baskets.  One  by  one  the  fowls,  each  with  a 
ring  about  its  neck,  to  which  a  string  was  attached, 
were  caught  by  the  men,  and  their  long  bills  opened 
and  their  gullets  emptied  of  fish.  Each  bird 
shook  itself  and  squawked,  hopping  back  to  its  own 
particular  basket  like  an  old,  lame  hermit  going  to 
his  cave. 

Rennoske  would  have  questioned;  but  a  group 
of  half-naked  boys  upon  the  beach  again  attracted 
his  attention  as  they  played  at  battledore  and  shuttle- 
cock. It  was  with  reluctance  that  he  moved  on 
after  Osaki  and  the  girl,  his  feet  sinking  deep  into 
the  sand. 

Coming  near  the  ship,  he  saw  the  sailors  in  their 
short  pinafores  of  black  with  Osaki's  name  on  each 
man's  back  in  white  characters.  These  bustled 
about  with  teak  boxes,  carrying  them  down  a 
rickety  gangplank.  As  Osaki  came  up  to  them,  they 
prostrated  themselves  in  the  white  sand. 

"How  goes  the  cargo,  Iwashi?"  he  called  to  a 
sturdy  fellow  with  a  white  kerchief  about  his  fore- 
head. 

"All  is  ashore  but  the  presents  for  the  mountain, 
O  captain,"  answered  the  man. 


WISH    FOR    SECOND    SWORD        121 

"Bring  them  to  the  lad  here,"  snapped  the  seal- 
hunter,  motioning  to  Rennoske.  "Then  sport 
yourselves,  for  there  will  be  work  enough  for  all  ere 
midnight." 

He  turned  to  Kiku,  and  said  suavely:  "Wouldst 
thou  see  my  ship,  O  maiden?  The  decks  have 
never  been  trod  by  woman's  feet.  Perhaps  luck 
will  follow  thy  dainty  tread." 

"If  I  can  bring  it,  Osaki,"  answered  the  girl. 
"I  go  gladly." 

Osaki  arched  his  eyebrows  significantly  at  Ren- 
noske, then,  touching  Kiku's  finger-tips,  he  led  her 
up  the  gangplank. 

Rennoske  stood  on  the  sand,  arms  akimbo,  legs 
spread  far  apart,  looking  out  on  the  broad  expanse 
of  sea,  dotted  with  the  square  sails  of  three  or  four 
junks  and  smaller  moving  specks  of  black  that  were 
the  fishing-boats.  He  was  awakened  from  a  reverie 
by  the  soft  voice  of  Iwashi. 

"The  captain  bid  me  give  to  thee  this  box,"  said 
the  sailor,  laying  the  bamboo  and  teak  thing  at  his 
feet.  Rennoske  nodded  pleasantly,  while  the  sailor 
stepped  back  a  pace  or  two  and  stood  eyeing  him. 

"How  art  thou  called?"   asked  the  man  at  length. 

"Little  Warrior,  son  of  the  Farmer  of  the  Three 
Wells." 

The  sailor  sneered  at  the  word  "farmer."  With- 
out another  word  he  stripped  off  his  hara-gake  and 


122     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

shirushi-hiki,  and  stood  in  his  loin  cloth,  a  muscular 
figure. 

"I  would  cool  myself  in  the  water,  Little  Warrior!" 
he  called  banteringly.  "'Yet  methinks  that  thou, 
a  farmer's  son,  canst  not  swim." 

"That  I  know  not,"  answered  Rennoske,  remov- 
ing his  own  kimono  and  shirt.  "Yet  will  I  try  with 
thee." 

The  man  looked  puzzled. 

"Be  careful,"  he  said.  "The  water  is  many 
fathoms  deep.  Those  who  know  not  whether  they 
can  swim  or  not  had  best  keep  out  of  it." 

With  a  splash  he  dived  into  the  water.  A  second 
after  him  came  Rennoske.  Down  under  the  green 
water  he  went.  It  roared  in  his  ears,  confusing  him. 

Then,  coming  to  the  surface,  he  struck  out,  face 
downward,  arms  churning  over  his  head.  His 
brain  was  awhirl  as  he  shot  ahead.  He  could  swim, 
and  well,  for,  glancing  over  his  shoulder,  he  saw 
that  he  was  drawing  away  from  Iwashi.  Where 
had  he  learned  this? 

They  kept  up  their  splashing  until  their  feet 
touched  bottom  near  the  shore.  Iwashi  looked 
at  the  boy  through  water-beaded  eyelashes. 

"I  gave  not  full  rein  to  my  strength,"  he  said, 
puffing.  "Let  us  race  back  to  the  ship." 

"Agreed,"  cried  Rennoske  in  boyish  enthusiasm, 
and  kicked  himself  free. 


WISH    FOR    SECOND    SWORD        123 

Iwashi  had  indeed  checked  his  strength.  Ren- 
noske  heard  his  puffing  and  splashing  ever  beside 
him.  Soon  there  were  shouts  on  the  sand.  The 
sailors  had  seen  the  race  and  were  crying  encourag- 
ingly to  their  fellow.  But  if  Iwashi  had  not  given 
full  rein  to  his  strength,  neither  did  Rennoske. 

Taking  a  full  breath  about  a  hundred  feet  from 
the  shore,  the  boy  sank  his  head  deep  into  the  brine, 
and  thrashing  his  legs  from  the  knee  down,  his  arms 
plunged  through  the  water  with  a  swift  downward 
sweep.  He  rose  dripping  on  the  sand  and  turned 
to  find  Iwashi  yet  in  the  sea,  ten  feet  from  the  shore. 
There  were  shouts  of  derision  as  the  sailor  emerged 
from  the  water. 

"Thy  match  is  met,  Iwashi,"  they  cried.  "There 
is  one  in  all  Japan  who  can  defeat  thee.  Gods, 
what  a  stroke!  Where  learned  he  it?" 

Something  within  the  soul  of  Rennoske  was  wildly 
clamoring.  He  ran  up  and  down  the  beach,  his 
spirits  seeming  winged.  Something  in  the  pile  of 
teak  boxes  near  the  ship  caught  his  eye. 

Three  long  bamboo  poles  lay  on  the  beach.  He 
picked  one  up.  Why,  he  asked  himself,  did  he  grasp 
it  at  one  end  with  both  hands?  Then  the  feeling 
he  had  at  dawn  came  back  to  him.  Surely  this  was 
the  length  of  a  sword  and  one  swung  it  above  one's 
head  —  thus!  He  cut  viciously  at  the  head  of  an 
imaginary  foe. 


i24     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Came  Iwashi  and  the  other  five  of  the  crew  of  the 
Maya  Maru  to  watch  the  lad  who  had  defeated  their 
champion  at  swimming.  What  now  were  these 
wonderful  actions?  What  did  the  magical  boy  do 
with  this  long  bamboo  pole? 

"Come,  Iwashi,"  cried  the  boy.  "Pick  up  a  pole 
and  joust  with  me.  Come,  lest  I  crack  thee  over 
thy  bald  pate." 

Now  Iwashi,  mate  of  the  Maya  Maru,  was  in  no 
good  humor,  and  even  though  he  had  never  had  a 
sword  in  his  hand,  he  had  seen  many  used. 

"Impudent  raiser  of  rice!"  he  yelled,  seizing  a 
pole.  "I'll  teach  thee  to  make  sport  of  Iwashi!" 

With  another  yell  he  rushed  at  Rennoske,  making 
a  swinging  cut  at  his  head.  But  alas  for  hands  that 
had  never  held  a  sword  against  hands  that  had  been 
trained  by  an  old  soldier  of  Shikoku  though  they  knew 
it  not.  The  boy's  pole  parried  and  with  a  thwack, 
came  down  on  Iwashi's  shaven  head,  following  with 
a  poke  in  the  ribs  that  sent  the  sailor  sprawling. 

Long  and  loud  laughed  the  crew  of  the  Maya  Maru. 
Frantic  were  the  struggles  of  Iwashi  as  he  rose  to 
his  feet.  Completely  losing  his  head,  he  picked  up 
the  pole  again  and  rushed  madly  at  the  boy,  whirling 
the  stick  over  his  head. 

This  time  Rennoske's  pole  cracked  him  soundly 
across  the  shins.  Iwashi,  mate  of  the  Maya  Maru, 
dropped  his  pole,  howling.  He  had  had  enough. 


WISH    FOR    SECOND    SWORD        125 

"Try  it.  Then  will  you  all  find  how  easy  it  is,'* 
he  whimpered  to  the  laughing  crew. 

"He  is  but  a  boy,  Iwashi,"  said  one  of  them. 
"For  shame  to  be  beaten  by  a  boy.  Ho,  ho!" 

"So.  A  boy  with  a  wrist  of  steel,"  Iwashi  an- 
swered. "Try  it,  thou;  then  will  I  laugh  myself." 

The  sailor  tried  indeed,  and  Iwashi  laughed  indeed, 
for  the  boy's  opponent  hopped  ridiculously  about 
on  the  sand,  one  hand  rubbing  his  head,  while  he 
strove  to  rub  his  shins  with  the  other. 

Next  two  were  tried  at  once.  Try  as  they  might, 
their  poles  could  not  come  within  a  foot  of  Rennoske's 
head,  while  their  own  were  cracked  unmercifully. 

"Gods  of  the  Sea,  what  scurvy  knaves  have  I  for 
a  crew!"  boomed  Osaki's  voice  from  the  gangplank. 
"A  boy  of  eighteen  to  crack  your  heads  and  you 
cannot  touch  him  two  to  one  — faugh!" 

Rennoske,  with  the  joy  of  victory  thumping  in 
his  breast  and  rushing  to  his  temples,  called  back, 
"Try  it  thou,  hunter  of  the  seal!  Or  dost  thou 
fear  I  will  muss  thy  head-dress?" 

Osaki  smiled  his  insolent  smile,  and  walking  down 
the  gangplank,  took  one  of  the  sticks  from  the  ground. 
With  a  firm  grasp  he  held  it  aloft  with  both  hands. 
"Come,  braggart,"  he  said  through  his  clenched 
teeth.  "Come,  speaker  of  bold  words,  my  queue 
will  not  be  touched  a  hair.  Come!" 

The  laughter  of  the  crew  changed  to  silent  interest 


126     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

as  the  sticks  sounded  hollow  in  the  cut  and  parry. 
Round  in  a  circle  went  the  man  in  his  flowing 
robes  of  blue  and  the  lithe-muscled  boy.  The 
shadow  of  the  great  square  sail  of  the  ship  moved 
an  inch  on  the  sand,  yet  neither  had  struck  a  blow. 
They  ducked,  thrust,  parried,  their  eyes  gleaming, 
breaths  coming  fast  through  parted  lips. 

Suddenly  Rennoske  brought  his  stick  down  with 
a  resounding  whack  on  Osaki's  knuckles.  With  a 
howl  the  sailor  dropped  his  pole  of  bamboo.  Yet 
before  the  boy  could  lift  his  weapon,  Osaki  caught 
his  uplifted  arm  by  the  wrist  in  a  firm  grasp. 

"Thou  art  disarmed,"  whispered  the  boy. 

"And  thou  art  helpless,"  answered  Osaki,  his  face 
close. 

"Even  so,  but  had  I  the  second  sword,  I  would 
pierce  thy  entrails,  hunter  of  the  seal!" 

A  sudden  change  came  over  Osaki's  face,  a  look 
of  a  dog  that  has  snapped  at  his  master.  His  hand 
relaxed,  his  voice  came  in  an  awed  whisper: 

"I  know  not  who  you  are  —  but  what  you  are, 
I  know  full  well!" 


Chapter  XI 
The  Sight  of  an  Ugly  Face 

THE  crew  of  the  Maya  Maru  stopped  their 
sport  and  were  clambering  up  over  the 
ship's  sides,  busy  with  rope,  anchor,  and 
rudder,  for  the  order  had  been  given  to  cast  off. 

Rennoske  stood  by  the  water's  edge,  again  in  his 
short  kimono,  the  rising  tide  eddying  and  swirling 
about  his  bare  feet.  He  stood  spread-legged,  lip 
between  thumb  and  forefinger,  pondering  upon  the 
seal-hunter's  words. 

Why  had  he  so  much  and  yet  so  little?  Why 
the  change  from  the  familiar  "thou"  to  the  respect- 
ful "you"?  Osaki  was  his  elder.  What  wonderful 
revelation  was  behind  that  "what  you  are"? 

Then  the  sword  crowded  this  out  with  a  sudden 
rush  of  thought.  Where  had  he  learned  the  use  of 
it?  for  he  could  use  it,  and  well.  How  did  he  know 
there  should  have  been  two  of  them?  What  did 
that  imply?  Try  as  he  might,  it  meant  nothing 
except  baffling  ponderings. 

He  could  ford  rushing  torrents,  rescue  maidens, 
swim  like  a  fish,  faster  than  another  known  for  his 


128     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

speed  in  the  water.  He  could  use  a  bamboo  pole  so 
well  that  two  to  one  could  not  harm  him.  Truly, 
as  he  mirrored  himself  in  his  own  thoughts,  by  the 
light  of  his  own  deeds,  he  was  a  wonderful  person. 

His  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  the  loud  voice 
of  the  master  of  the  ship.  The  gentleman  in  ques- 
tion was  evidently  in  a  state  of  great  excitement. 
Rennoske  was  surprised  to  see  the  gangplank  being 
put  down  again  and  the  great  sail,  that  had  been 
raised,  creaking  and  squealing  down  again  on  her 
rings. 

"And  hast  thou  not  seen  her,  dogs?"  Osaki 
roared.  "She  stood  beside  me  as  I  looked  down 
upon  thy  sport.  Drop  again  the  anchor,  clowns 
that  ye  are.  Gods  of  the  Sea,  look  not  so  stupidly 
upon  me  —  search  for  her!" 

Then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  the  boy  on  the 
beach  that  his  conceit  had  made  him  forget  Kiku. 
Where  was  the  girl?  He  had  not  seen  her  since 
she  went  with  Osaki  aboard  the  ship. 

His  recollection  of  the  seal-hunter's  deeds  of  the 
morning  gave  him  quite  a  qualm.  Could  it  be  that 
Osaki  took  this  means  of  abducting  the  girl  before 
his  very  eyes,  thus  putting  an  end  forever  to  the 
rivalry  ? 

He  asked  himself  no  further;  but  running  to  the 
ship's  stern,  he  caught  hold  of  a  line  and  hauled 
himself,  hand  over  hand,  to  the  deck. 


SIGHT    OF   AN    UGLY    FACE      129 

"A  pretty  deed  is  this,  boy!"  cried  Osaki  to  him, 
as  he  clambered  over  the  rail.  "The  girl  is  gone!" 

"Then  it  is  thou  who  hast  done  the  foul  deed, 
Osaki,"  Rennoske  answered  angrily.  "Thou  hast 
many  tricks  in  thy  bag,  sailor.  Why  dost  stand 
there  gibbering,  shamming  a  loss  thou  knowest 
thou  hast  not?" 

"What  mean  you?"  Osaki  thundered,  straighten- 
ing his  broad  shoulders  and  glowering  down  at 
Rennoske. 

"Ruffle  not  thy  neck,  gamecock,"  the  boy  replied, 
giving  back  deadly  look  for  deadly  look.  "Thou 
hast  hidden  the  girl  in  the  ship  and  seek  to  fool  me 
with  cries  and  lamentations.  Where  is  the  maid? 
Tell  me,  lest  I  strangle  the  truth  from  thy  lips!" 

"Call  me  trickster  upon  the  decks  of  mine  own 
ship,  puppy?"  Osaki  raved.  "Threaten  no  threats 
that  cannot  be  carried  out.  It  is  more  of  your  doing 
to  tell  the  girl  to  meet  you  in  some  secret  place  you 
both  have  appointed  for  her  shame  and  for  mine. 
Yet  shall  I  follow  you.  Drop  the  anchor  there! 
Haul  down  the  sail !  The  girl  is  mine  by  oath  — 
mine  shall  she  be.  Maid-thieving  outcast,  where 
is  Kiku  San?" 

Words  and  the  effect  of  words  went  to  the  winds. 
With  a  snarl  and  a  leap,  seal-hunter  and  farmer's  son 
were  at  each  other's  throats.  There  was  murder  in 
their  hearts. 


i3o     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Who  calls  the  name  of  Kiku  San?" 

Rennoske  and  Osaki,  at  the  sound  of  the  gentle 
voice,  let  go  their  hold  and,  panting,  wheeled  quickly. 
Standing  demurely  before  them  was  Kiku. 

"Where  wert  thou,  maiden?"  asked  Osaki,  the 
first  to  find  his  voice. 

"In  the  depths  of  thy  good  ship,  my  lord  and 
master  that  is  to  be,"  she  replied,  a  quaver  in  her 
voice. 

"And  wherefore?"  snapped  Rennoske  suspi- 
ciously. "Art  thou  so  shameless  as  to  stay  on 
board  unbidden?" 

"The  puppy  presumes,"  Osaki  sneered.  "I  deal 
with  the  girl,  boy." 

"Fret  me  no  more,"  the  lad  answered,  his  choler 
rising  again.  "Enough  have  I  stood  of  thy — " 

"Nay,  brother,"  Kiku  broke  in  upon  him.  "I 
did  but  pray  to  Idzumo  for  a  safe  voyage  and  a 
quick  return  for  my  betrothed." 

Neither  traced  the  lie  in  her  voice. 

"See,  boy,"  said  he.  "This  is  what  comes  of 
boasting  in  the  ways  of  women.  How  think  you 
now  of  your  'She  would  have  no  man  but  me'? 
Ho,  ho!" 

Rennoske  turned  to  hide  his  blush  of  shame  and 
walked  toward  the  gangplank. 

"A  thousand  bows  of  my  head  in  parting,"  he 
heard  Osaki  say.  "A  thousand  thoughts  shall  be 


SIGHT    OF    AN    UGLY    FACE      131 

of  thee  till  my  eyes  are  blessed  by  a  sight  of  thee 
again,  O  Kiku  San." 

"A  thousand  winds  blow  you  through  pleasant 
seas,"  answered  the  girl.  "A  thousand  years  shall 
it  seem  till  you  return  again  to  me,  Osaki." 

Rennoske  felt  her  sleeve  brush  his  arm  and  knew 
she  waited  for  him  to  lead  the  way. 

For  a  parting  shot  he  turned  and  glowered  at 
the  seal-hunter,  who  answered  the  challenge  with 
white-toothed  leer.  Then  he  walked  down  the 
gangplank,  Kiku's  feet  pattering  after  him. 

On  the  full  tide,  the  vessel  soon  drifted  out  on 
the  sparkling  water;  slowly  the  great  square  sail 
rose  and  spread  against  the  sun.  Then,  as  it  caught 
the  wind,  the  junk  turned  awkwardly,  showing  her 
high,  galleonlike  stern.  Soon  she  dwindled  into 
a  speck  of  black  on  the  golden  sea. 

The  boy  stood  watching  her,  his  brain  full  of 
pictures,  painted  in  brilliant  hues  by  his  imagination, 
of  storms,  typhoons,  distant  lands  and  wild  beasts 
to  conquer. 

A  sound  from  Kiku  made  him  turn  toward  her. 
She  was  chuckling  and  laughing  to  herself,  her  tiny 
straw-sandaled  feet  beating  a  tattoo  on  the  shining 
sand  as  if  she  danced  with  glee. 

"Kiku,  Kiku!"  the  boy  called.  "Thou  art 
glad  Osaki  has  left?  Glad  that  thou  canst  be  with 
me?" 


132     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Her  laughter  stopped  short.  She  turned  a  pale, 
frightened  face  to  him. 

"Nay,  nay,"  she  faltered.  "I  am  not  glad  — 
Inari  bear  me  witness,  I  am  not  glad."  And  she 
fell  to  sobbing. 

"Then  thou  grievest  for  Osaki,"  he  went  on,  his 
own  tone  of  anxiety  changing  at  her  negative  reply 
to  a  question  to  which  he  had  expected  another  and 
better  answer.  "Ships  go  and  come.  He  will 
return  —  if  that  is  what  thou  grievest  for." 

"Nay,  nay,  nay!"  she  answered,  laughing  now. 
"He  will  never  return.  It  is  thus  that  I  prayed!" 
And  she  wept  again. 

Fording  streams  was  play,  swimming  races  with 
sailors  nothing  to  brag  of,  fencing  with  bamboo 
poles  a  joke  compared  with  this!  He  shouldered 
the  box  and  turned  his  face  to  the  mountains,  won- 
dering again  upon  the  strange  ways  of  women. 

The  boys  had  gone  from  their  game  as  they  passed 
the  beach.  The  cormorants  slept,  as  did  their 
masters,  tired  from  their  night  of  toil.  All  was 
silent  in  the  hot  afternoon  sun  that  beat  down  yellow 
on  sand,  marsh,  thatch,  and  bamboo. 

Rennoske  trudged  ahead  while  Kiku  toddled 
behind,  both  as  silent  as  the  sleepy  land  and  sea. 

Again  they  trod  the  white,  sandy  road  through 
the  cattails  of  the  salt  marsh.  Rennoske's  head 
was  bent  by  the  load,  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 


SIGHT   OF   AN   UGLY    FACE        133 

Suddenly  the  pitter-patter  of  feet  ahead  of  him 
made  him  look  up.  Down  the  road  came  a  cloud  of 
dust. 

Out  of  it  soon  appeared  six  coolies,  naked  but  for 
their  loin  cloths  and  white  band  about  the  forehead, 
running  at  top  speed.  Between  the  first  and  the 
last  three,  for  they  ran  abreast,  swayed  a  rickety 
palanquin.  The  boy  stopped  to  look  as  the  vehicle 
pattered  by. 

A  man  sat  in  it  leaning  far  out,  or  rather  half  a 
man,  for  the  creature  was  but  three  feet  high.  The 
face  had  all  the  animalism  of  an  ape's,  the  lower  lip 
protruded  as  he  squealed  and  grunted  to  the  coolies 
to  go  faster. 

But  a  single  glance  had  Rennoske  of  the  deformed 
creature.  That,  it  seemed,  was  enough.  He  dropped 
the  box,  screamed  in  terror,  and  ran  down  the  road 
as  though  a  tiger  were  after  him. 

The  dwarf,  too,  turned,  saw  him,  then  frantically 
waved  his  long  hairy  arms  and  screamed  for  the  men 
to  stop.  They,  thinking  it  but  a  command  to  go 
faster,  puffed  and  panted  and  ran  on. 

Rennoske,  head  erect,  mouth  open,  hands  clenched, 
ran  along  the  road  sending  the  dust  flying  behind 
him.  He  darted  into  the  woods,  stumbling  and 
slipping  through  the  bog-land. 

At  length,  winded  and  worn  out,  he  fell  in  a  heap 
by  the  swollen  stream  he  had  crossed  that  morning. 


i34    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

There,  dragging  the  box  after  her,  a  half-hour  later, 
Kiku  found  him. 

"Little  Warrior,"  she  called,  stooping  over  and 
touching  him  on  the  shoulder,  "why  did  you  fly 
from  me?  There  was  naught  in  the  litter  but  an 
ugly  dwarf.  Little  Warrior  —  come  —  he  follows 
not." 

He  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her.  There  it 
was  —  the  blank,  stupid  stare.  The  sickness  had 
claimed  him  again. 

There  was  no  light  of  recognition  in  his  eyes.  It 
was  here,  but  a  few  hours  ago,  he  had  forded  the 
rushing  stream  —  yes,  here  he  had  caught  her  in 
his  strong  arms  as  she  fell.  Swooned?  Not  she! 
She  had  heard  every  word  of  his  glorious  challenge 
to  Osaki  above  the  water  that  bubbled  so  close  to 
her. 

Why  should  Osaki  know?  Go  with  him  in  the 
stream?  Aye,  if  it  led  to  the  seventh  hell!  Here 
he  was,  this  man  who  had  snatched  her  from  death 
and  unselfishly  handed  her  back  to  his  rival.  Here 
was  the  man  for  her  —  here  was  a  chance  to  help 
him  as  he  had  her. 

Gently  she  bade  him  rise,  he  obeyed  her.  Gently 
she  led  him  over  the  span  and  came  back  again  for 
the  box.  Gently  she  led  him  home  again. 

When  they  reached  their  dwelling,  Miyoshi  sat 
upon  the  doorstep,  his  head  bowed  in  his  hands. 


SIGHT   OF   AN   UGLY    FACE        135 

"Here  are  the  presents,  O  my  father,"  said  the 
girl,  quickly  putting  down  the  box  beside  him. 

"Aye,  and  we  will  need  them,  girl,"  the  farmer 
answered.  "The  soldiers  of  the  Matsuyama  have 
been  here.  All  my  rice  from  last  year's  harvest 
have  they  taken — all — all.  Thy  mother — gods!  — 
she  sought  to  hide  from  them  the  yen  she  had  saved, 
and  one,  discovering  them,  struck  her  upon  the 
mouth  with  his  mailed  fist.  To  Takenaka  they 
went.  Inari  help  the  village  when  those  black  dogs 
have  finished  with  it!  What  thinkest  thou  of  that, 
my  son?" 

But  a  stupid  stare  was  the  only  answer  of  Ren- 
noske.  Miyoshi  the  Farmer  was  not  the  only  one 
who  suffered  at  the  hands  of  the  house  of  the 
Mountain  of  Pines. 


Chapter  XII 
Black  Armor  Seen  in  the  Sunset 

THE  cherry  blossoms  had  died  long  since, 
the  wistaria  faded.  Now  bloomed  the 
chrysanthemum  in  clear-skied  November. 
With  a  blaze  of  red  and  gold  the  maples  dropped 
their  leaves,  and  November  died. 

The  pines  shone  a  brighter  green  against  the  snow 
that  fell  now  and  then  in  December  and  January. 
In  February  came  the  plum  blossoms,  and  the 
nightingale's  song  in  March.  It  was  almost  time 
for  the  cherry  blossoms  to  show  their  pink  once 
more. 

The  winter  in  that  tiny  thatched  cottage  on 
the  plateau  had  been  a  long  and  a  hard  one.  The 
charcoal  braziers  were  low,  so  the  four  inmates  felt 
keenly  the  damp  cold. 

Food  was  scarce  and  coarse,  for  the  last  raid  of 
the  Matsuyama  had  taken  nearly  all.  The  cold 
settled  in  Miyoshi's  bones,  making  his  limp  more 
pronounced,  while  an  ugly  scar  disfigured  his  wife's 
lip,  spoiling  a  quiet  prettiness. 

As  for  Rennoske  himself,  he  never  grumbled  or 


ARMOR   SEEN  IN  THE  SUNSET*   137 

complained,  though  there  was  a  smoldering  some- 
thing within  his  breast  that  made  him  afraid  of 
himself  o'  nights.  The  sufferings  of  his  foster- 
father  was  enough  to  bear;  his  own,  nothing. 

It  was  the  sight  of  the  thin,  peaked  Kiku  that 
made  his  blood  boil.  For  him,  manhood  was  close 
at  hand,  if  not  present.  He  was  twenty  —  leaner 
than  before,  it  was  true;  but,  with  the  lack  of  food 
and  the  excess  of  exercise,  his  rippling  muscles  had 
taken  on  a  certain  wiriness,  while  the  hollows  of 
his  cheeks  set  off  a  firmer  push  to  his  jaw. 

The  cold  had  a  good  effect  on  him  in  one  way, 
for  the  winter  went  by  without  a  return  of  his  malady. 
In  the  early  dawn  awakenings  the  longing  for  the 
sword  came  often,  yet  it  was  no  longer  on  Osaki 
that  he  wished  to  use  it,  rather  against  the  hated 
black  of  the  Matsuyama  who  had  lamed  his  father, 
scarred  his  mother,  caused  many  a  yearning  in  his 
own  stomach,  and  made  the  chrysanthemum  of  his 
heart,  his  "gentlest  flower,"  thin,  sad,  and  pale. 
Yet,  perhaps,  the  hatred  was  instinctive  as  well. 

When  the  spring  rains  began  oxen  were  borrowed 
from  their  neighbor  up  the  mountain,  Yatara,  and 
with  the  help  of  some  others  the  ground  was  plowed. 
The  two  cherry  trees  outside  the  house  were  a  mass 
of  pink,  yet  no  word  came  from  Boruku  of  the 
arrival  of  the  Maya  Maru. 

At  length,  on  the  day  of  the  Boys'  Festival  in 


138     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

May,  Miyoshi  donned  his  new  haori  over  his  sea- 
green  kimono,  the  gifts  of  Osaki,  and,  taking  a  stout 
staff,  announced  his  intention  of  walking  to  the 
village  in  question.  Rennoske  and  Kiku  were  per- 
mitted to  go  to  the  archery  contest  to  be  held  on 
the  lawn  at  Takenaka,  so  the  lad  started  off,  the 
girl  trotting  beside  him. 

"Think,  gentlest  flower,"  said  he,  as  they  trod 
the  path,  "there  will  be  fish-kites  flying  from  great 
poles,  fish-kites  high  in  the  air  to  signify  that  this 
day  the  carp  begins  its  swim  up-stream,  and  the 
boy  his  battle  of  life.  Hei  —  and  the  arrow-shoot- 
ing! Will  it  not  be  a  brave  sight  for  thine  eyes?" 

But  Kiku  answered  nothing;  whereupon  Rennoske 
wondered  for  the  thousandth  time  upon  the  strange 
ways  of  women.  He  soon  forgot  his  puzzle  by  taking 
one  of  the  three  stout  bamboo  poles  he  held  under 
his  arm  and  whirling  it  in  the  air.  At  the  archery 
contest  there  might  be  one  who  thought  he  could 
use  a  sword.  It  was  best  to  be  prepared. 

Long  before  they  came  to  the  green  they  saw  the 
kites,  high  above  the  trees,  swirling  and  floating 
in  the  soft  spring  air,  turning  now  to  this  side,  now 
to  that,  soaring  and  gyrating. 

Of  all  sizes  they  were,  mostly  in  the  shape  of 
fantastic  fish,  colored  red  and  orange,  blue  and  green, 
the  scales  traced  in  black.  From  where  they  stood 
in  a  little  green  hollow  it  looked  as  if  they  had  found 


ARMOR  SEEN  IN  THE  SUNSET     139 

themselves  under  a  blue  aquarium  or  that  the  fish 
had  suddenly  taken  to  the  sky  instead  of  the  sea. 
A  steady  buzz  of  voices  was  borne  to  them  on  the 
breeze. 

Gradually  the  maples,  pines,  and  cedars  thinned, 
and  they  came  out  upon  the  green.  Such  a  sight! 
The  lawn  was  diamond-shape;  the  point  opposite 
to  where  they  stood  sloped  upward,  where  the 
huddled  brown  of  the  houses  showed  where  the 
village  stood.  They  had  seen  the  kites  —  they 
now  saw  those  who  held  them. 

There  were  boys  by  twos,  boys  by  dozens,  boys 
by  the  score.  Some  stood  still,  holding  their  strings 
and  looking  with  ecstatic  faces  at  their  floating  toys. 
Others  ran  up  and  down,  pulling,  twisting,  turning 
round  suddenly,  dragging  the  kites  after  them,  while 
the  smaller  boys,  with  still  smaller  brothers  and 
sisters  strapped  squalling  to  their  backs,  ran  up  and 
down  after  their  grown  and  privileged  brethren, 
shouting  and  squealing  with  glee. 

"Over  there  is  the  greater  crowd,"  cried  Rennoske, 
pointing  to  a  long  lane  of  many  colored  kimonos 
near  a  grove.  "Come,  Kiku,  the  shooting  should 
be  there." 

And,  never  noticing  whether  she  followed  or  not, 
he  plodded  through  the  grass,  his  cheeks  burning 
with  the  fever  of  excitement. 

He   almost   tripped   over   three   tiny   lads,    their 


i4o    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

heads  shaven  but  for  a  bristling  ring  of  hair  on  the 
top,  squatting  cross-legged  on  the  ground. 

"Nan-kem-po!"  squeaked  little  fellow  number 
one. 

"Nan-kem-po!"  repeated  two  little  fellows  num- 
bers two  and  three. 

They  stuck  out  their  hands  from  behind  their 
backs.  Little  fellow  number  one  held  his  fist  tight, 
while  the  other  two  showed  two  fingers.  Hei! 
Stone  beats  scissors!  Little  fellow  number  one 
screamed  with  joy. 

"Nan-kem-po!"  Rennoske  heard  it  behind  him 
again,  but  ran  on.  A  long  shout  from  the  throng 
quickened  his  steps.  There  should  be  something 
strange  and  wonderful  here  surely. 

Broad  shoulders  barred  his  way  on  the  edge  of 
the  crowd.  He  nosed  about  until  he  found  an 
opening,  or,  rather,  what  was  as  good  as  one,  for 
finding  one  little  old  fellow  looking  on,  the  lad 
looked  on  himself  over  a  shiny  and  wrinkled  bald 
head. 

The  lane  or  alley  was  flanked  right  and  left  by 
myriad  yellow  faces,  grinning  faces,  smiling  faces. 
The  pinched  cheeks  of  them  were  lost  in  the  holiday 
glow,  yet  the  sparkling  eyes  were  in  hollow  sockets 
like  his  own. 

The  hard  winter  had  affected  more  than  the 
inmates  of  Miyoshi's  cottage  —  as  these  signs  plainly 


ARMOR  SEEN  IN  THE  SUNSET     141 

told.  Starvation  revealed  itself  in  here  a  flapping 
kimono,  there  a  tightly  drawn  sash. 

But  hei!  this  was  a  holiday  in  good  sooth.  Little 
sons,  nephews,  and  grandsons  shot  for  the  prize. 
Give  your  peasant  a  fine  day,  a  soft  spring  breeze, 
a  crowd  of  his  fellows  straw-grasping  at  an  atom  of 
pleasure  like  himself,  and  he  will  forget  his  days 
and  nights  of  gnawing  hunger  and  bone-throbbing 
cold. 

At  the  end  of  this  lane,  about  a  hundred  feet  from 
where  Rennoske  craned  his  neck,  three  round  targets 
of  straw  stood  against  two  knotty  oaks,  one  above 
the  other.  The  boys  came  in  turn  with  their  bows 
and  arrows,  and  shot.  As  they  hit  or  flew  wide  of 
the  mark,  a  man  at  the  far  end  looked  and  called 
back,  "Zoru,  son  of  Bashuda,  hath  made  ten  and 
ten  and  four." 

The  markers  jotted  it  down,  and  another  lad  shot, 
and  so  on.  Rennoske  understood  little  of  the 
rivalry  or  the  score.  But  it  was  blood-stirring  to 
watch  the  arrows  skim  through  the  air,  so  he  watched 
on,  content  to  listen  to  cries  of  encouragement  and 
the  boys'  squeals. 

It  was  Gentaro,  son  of  the  wagoner,  who  started 
all  the  trouble.  Coming  up  behind  Rennoske  he 
playfully  pulled  one  of  the  bamboo  poles  from  under 
his  arm.  Equally  as  playfully  he  made  to  strike 
him  across  the  shins.  Gentaro  received  a  thwack 


i42     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

over  the  head  for  his  pains  and  had  the  pole  knocked 
flying  from  his  hand. 

Now,  it  seems  that  there  was  an  old  soldier  in 
the  chattering,  yellow-faced  crowd,  one  O  Kina,  who 
had  served  in  the  Yezo  war  against  the  Ainu. 

"Where  learned  thou  that  up-cut,  young  man?" 
he  squeaked,  his  face  close  to  Rennoske's. 

"In  truth,  reverend  sir,"  Rennoske  answered, 
"I  recall  neither  my  parentage  nor  my  boyhood. 
Yet  this  comes  to  me  as  easy  as  sleeping." 

The  old  man  puckered  up  his  scarred  nose. 

"It  looks  like  a  Shikoku  training  to  me,"  he  went 
on.  "I'll  warrant  my  own  Kiyushu  slicing  will 
break  down  thy  guard,  young  man.  Wouldst  try 
a  round  with  me?" 

"So,"  answered  Rennoske,  "I  will  try  willingly, 
if  thy  gray  hairs  can  stand  the  heat  of  the  exercise, 
for  I  move  swiftly,  reverend  sir." 

"So,  thou  art  a  confident  cub,"  said  the  soldier, 
rolling  up  his  sleeve.  "Remember  my  arm  has  seen 
many  years  of  service.  Look  to  thine  own  pate." 

"I  look,"  cried  Rennoske,  and  their  sticks  met. 

Soon  the  click-clack  of  the  bamboo  reached  many 
ears,  and  it  was  not  long  before  a  ring  of  smiling 
faces  shone  above  a  bank  of  holiday  kimonos.  Ren- 
noske found  that  the  arm  that  had  seen  many  years 
of  service  was  indeed  a  worthy  one;  but  youth  was 
on  the  side  of  the  Shikoku  up-cut.  The  old  man  was 


ARMOR  SEEN  TN  THE  SUNSET     143 

disarmed,  respect  for  his  gray  hairs  saving  him  many 
a  sharp  rap  on  the  head  they  covered. 

Grave  faces  nodded  approvingly.  There  were 
whispers  of,  "Who  is  the  sturdy  lad?"  from  those 
who  had  come  from  afar  for  the  holiday. 

Those  of  the  neighborhood  told,  adding  the  usual: 
"Where  learned  the  son  of  Miyoshi  the  Farmer  the 
art  of  sword-play?" 

Coaxed  and  shamed  by  ambitious  fathers  and 
brothers,  many  other  lads  tried  their  hand.  They 
met  the  fate  of  the  sailors  of  the  Maya  Maru  at 
Rennoske's  hands,  even  two  and  three  to  one. 

If  the  joy  of  victory  had  raised  high  Rennoske's 
spirits  upon  the  sands  of  Boruku,  it  now  made 
him  drunken,  thumping  in  his  breast  and  rushing 
madly  to  his  temples.  The  hereditary  lust  of  battle 
overpowered  all  else,  and  he  cried  aloud: 

"Children  of  the  Rising  Sun,  why  stand  ye  here 
idle  while  the  soldiers  of  the  hated  Matsuyama  rob 
ye  of  your  hard-earned  rice?" 

His  own  words  frightened  him.  They  seemed 
to  be  put  into  his  mouth  by  some  unseen  spirit. 

"What  use  is  the  bow  and  arrow  to  your  children 
unless  the  shafts  go  straight  into  the  hearts  of  these 
accursed  warriors  ?  Rise  up,  children  of  the  Mikado ! 
Rise  up  and  overthrow  the  Daimyo  Kuroki  Obuto! 
Let  a  wiser  ruler  reign  in  his  stead.  What  say  you, 
sturdy  men  and  boys  of  Old  Nippon  ? " 


144    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Now,  here  was  talk  to  set  heads  a-wagging!  Old 
men  gasped;  horny-handed  farmers  whispered, 
"Men  have  been  beheaded  for  far  less  than  this." 
There  were  loud  cries  of  "Treason!"  and  "He  is  a 
madman!"  Yet  these  were  answered  by  the  sullen 
guttural  murmur  of  the  younger  men.  One  fresh- 
faced  farmer's  son  even  cried  out: 

"There  should  be  more  of  this  talk,  boy!" 

"Thou  hast  the  head  of  a  sage  on  thy  broad 
young  shoulders,"  said  another. 

Whereupon  their  elders  silenced  them  with  threats. 
Yet  the  seed  was  sown.  Nothing  else  was  talked 
of  from  then  on  but  the  indignities  all  had  suffered 
at  the  hands  of  the  Matsuyama. 

The  great  kites  in  the  shape  of  carp  were  forgotten; 
the  children  ran  free.  The  young  men  crowded 
about  Rennoske,  talking  and  expostulating  in  fiery 
words.  Ever  to  feed  the  flame,  the  old  soldier  took 
up  the  talk  of  rebellion.  He  would  train  them  and 
the  young  warrior  of  the  bamboo  poles  should  be 
their  leader. 

In  vain  did  the  old  men  shake  their  heads.  The 
day  was  but  a  hubbub  of  angry  voices.  The  seed 
was  sown. 

Here  a  bronzed  fisher  slapped  his  calloused  palm 
with  a  clenched  fist.  "Who  were  the  Matsuyama 
indeed  but  usurpers?"  he  demanded  in  a  loud 
voice.  "What  chance  had  honest  fisher  folk  when 


ARMOR  SEEN  IN  THE  SUNSET     145 

they  were  taxed  nine  and  eighty  yen  a  year  to  keep 
the  Black  Boar  in  drunkenness?" 

"Nine  and  eighty?"  piped  the  wagoner.  "From 
me  they  take  a  hundred  and  ten.  What  with  such 
little  frost  and  less  rain,  it  has  been  three  years  since 
that  much  I  even  made.  Is  it  just  that  a  man  shall 
save  his  neck  by  giving  up  the  money  come  to  him 
in  his  wife's  dowry  ?  Rebellion  —  ?  There  is  cause 
for  regicide,  my  brethren!" 

"There  was  a  time,"  a  woodman  chimed  in,  "when 
we  folk  worked  but  till  sunset.  Now  we  must  e'en 
labor  after  dark,  winter  and  summer.  Fifty  logs 
of  perfect  pine  must  be  given  and  hauled  by  every 
man  —  Aye,  and  my  son  reaching  eighteen  and  I 
muster  his  help  —  hei!  He  is  a  man,  too,  in  the 
Matsuyama's  eyes,  and  there  shall  be  fifty  more, 
for  the  Black  Boar  builds  palaces,  the  Black  Boar 
builds  strongholds  and  godowns  for  his  stolen  rice, 
and  we  must  pay  for  it.  We,  the  Children  of  the 
Ax,  chop  down  trees  for  him  to  build  palaces  for 
his  geisha." 

Set  fire  to  paper  and  there  will  be  always  wind 
to  fan  it.  Hurl  a  stone  ever  so  carelessly  at  a  bee- 
hive and  it  will  hit  to  set  the  swarm  a-stinging. 

The  recital  of  woes  and  the  talk  of  wrongs  had  but 
filtered  through  that  mob  of  shouting  and  expostu- 
lating peasants,  when  a  cry  rose  from  them  and 
many  faces  were  turned  toward  the  village. 


146    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"See  —  the  Matsuyama  are  upon  us  now!" 

A  hush  spread  over  all  and  all  eyes  were  turned 
toward  the  break  between  the  trees  where  the  path 
leading  to  the  huddled  houses  began. 

From  out  of  it  a  bare-legged  man  ran,  or  rather 
he  staggered,  swerving  from  this  side  to  that,  his 
arms  over  his  chest,  the  hands  tearing  at  a  black 
thing  that  stuck  there.  Clanking  clumsily  after 
him,  came  four  soldiers,  each  with  a  drawn  sword. 
The  setting  sun  lit  up  shiny  patches  of  their 
armor  of  black,  giving  them  a  bloodlike  sheen  that 
struck  terror  in  the  hearts  of  the  holiday  makers. 

On  came  the  man,  blinded  by  blood  and  terror. 
He  crashed  into  a  boy  who  had  not  been  quick 
enough  to  get  out  of  his  way.  The  boy  screamed  — 
so  did  the  man,  staggering  still  more,  he  rushed  head- 
long into  the  now  babbling  crowd. 

A  few  feet  from  where  Rennoske  stood,  the  man 
threw  out  his  arms,  whirled,  while  his  ankles  gave 
way  under  him,  and  then  fell  prone  on  his  back. 
The  boy  had  seen  the  black  thing  that  stuck  bloody 
in  his  breast  —  it  was  a  long  arrow,  the  point  lost 
in  the  torn  folds  of  his  short  kimono. 

Yet  before  Rennoske  or  any  of  the  peasants  could 
reach  him,  the  first  soldier  was  upon  him  and  thrust 
the  point  of  the  long  sword  deep  into  his  bared 
throat  as  he  lay. 

A  shrill  cry  of  anger  rose  up  from  the  throng  at 


ARMOR  SEEN  IN  THE  SUNSET     147 

the  sheer  brutality  of  the  thing.  A  sickening  shiver 
ran  through  Rennoske's  frame  at  this,  his  first  sight 
of  human  blood.  He  stood  rooted  to  the  spot, 
unable  to  move. 

"Hold  back  our  father,"  a  shrill  voice  rang  out. 
"They  have  slain  his  first-born.  Hold  him  back, 
brothers.  Let  us  deal  with  these  black  butchers!" 

Into  the  ring  formed  about  the  body  by  the  bank 
of  kimonos,  a  young  man  sprang.  Rennoske  saw 
that  he  was  but  twenty-odd,  attired  as  was  the 
dead  man.  Following  closely  after  came  four  more, 
all  brothers  they  looked,  with  a  little  over  a  year  of 
difference  in  the  ages  of  each. 

"The  sons  of  the  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees," 
Rennoske  heard  some  one  say  close  to  him.  "Brave 
lads  and  sturdy.  There  shall  be  more  blood  spilt 
here." 

"Men  of  Takenaka,"  the  soldiers  shouted,  "thus 
do  ye  see  what  comes  of  disobedience  to  your 
Daimyo.  Stand  back  there,  cub!"  he  growled  to 
one  of  the  boys  who  had  come  quite  near.  "Would 
you  have  some  of  the  same  sauce?" 

"Demon-sent  swine!"  growled  the  boy,  shaking 
his  fist.  "At  them,  brothers  —  bear  them  down!" 

He  rushed,  followed  by  the  other  four.  A  sweep 
of  the  soldier's  sword  knicked  him  in  the  wrist, 
sending  the  blood  spouting,  while  one  of  his  brothers 
fell  with  a  long  gash  in  the  thigh. 


148     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Stand  back,  rebellious  dogs!"  cried  the  soldier 
while  the  other  three  armored  men  closed  about  him, 
all  standing  back  to  back.  With  the  long  sword 
they  swung  from  right  to  left  with  the  full  swing  of 
their  arm  while  the  other  arm,  holding  the  shorter 
sword,  swept  in  the  opposite  direction.  This  wind- 
mill of  sharp  steel  slowly  crept  forward,  while  the 
peasants  fell  back  in  silence. 

"Hath  no  one  the  courage  of  a  cat?"  roared  a 
voice. 

A  man  of  fifty  stumbled  forward,  dragging  with 
him  three  more  boys,  who  sought  to  hold  him  back. 
His  broad  shoulders  twisted  to  shake  off  the  six 
arms  that  sought  to  stay  him. 

Father  struggled  with  sons,  who  tried  what  they 
had  failed  to  do.  Still  the  four  soldiers  moved 
steadily  forward,  the  steel  glistening  pink  —  ever 
backward  moved  the  crowd. 

Whoever  told  Rennoske  what  to  do  —  what  it 
was  that  prompted  him  —  he  never  could  tell.  He 
remembered  hearing  of  the  trick  of  the  flying  wedge 
of  swords.  He  remembered  how  one  had  told  him 
how  it  was  defeated.  He  knew  how  —  what  mat- 
tered who  the  teller  was  ? 

He  stood  his  ground  until  the  soldiers  and  their 
shining  ring  were  within  a  yard  of  him,  then,  like 
a  man  plunging  into  the  water,  he  dived  head  first 
for  their  ankles.  He  felt  the  cold  steel  of  the  shin- 


ARMOR  SEEN  IN  THE  SUNSET     149 

plates  in  his  hands  the  instant  his  feet  touched  the 
ground. 

A  sudden  jerk  and  the  bewildered  face  of  the 
soldier  lay  under  him.  It  was  the  work  of  a  second 
to  catch  the  wrist  that  held  the  short  sword  and 
force  the  point  of  it  into  the  lacings  of  the  gorget. 
The  black-armored  soldier  of  the  Matsuyama  lay 
squirming  on  the  ground  swordless  and  with  a 
neatly  severed  jugular  vein  before  he  had  time  to 
look  upon  the  face  of  his  assailant. 

The  long  sword  in  his  right  hand,  Rennoske  rose 
to  face  another  soldier  on  one  knee,  for  his  trick  had 
sent  all  four  sprawling.  The  man  jumped  up  and 
crossed  blades  with  him,  expecting  but  little  trouble 
from  a  peasant  with  a  long  sword.  He  swung  for 
Rennoske's  head,  had  the  blow  parried,  and  got  a 
wound  in  the  shoulder  for  his  pains.  He  tried  a 
cut  for  the  legs  to  find  that  parried,  too.  He  was 
wondering  how  Shikoku  training  was  to  be  found 
thus  on  Takenaka  green,  fighting  like  a  wildcat  the 
while. 

He  let  out  a  yell  on  recognizing  the  face  of  his 
deposed  Daimyo,  and  in  the  next  instant,  recognized 
nothing  at  all,  for  the  top  of  his  own  helmet  pierced 
sharply  through  his  skull  from  a  full-armed  swing  of 
a  good  sword,  and  he  knew  neither  houses  of  Matsu- 
yama nor  Ackagawa,  armed  peasants,  nor  Shikoku 
training. 


i5o    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Rennoske,  now  in  that  state  of  madness  made 
possible  by  easily  earned  victory,  saw  another  sword 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  made  a  back-hand  swing 
at  it,  and  sent  it  flying  through  the  air.  He  drew 
back  his  own  blade  to  let  the  owner  have  the 
benefit  of  its  point;  but  paused  in  time.  The  man 
that  faced  him  was  unarmed  and  unarmored,  one 
of  the  boys  who  had  so  interested  him  before  the 
fray. 

"Who  art  thou,"  cried  the  boy,  staring,  "that 
thou  shouldst  risk  thy  life  in  a  quarrel  that  is  mine 
and  my  brothers'?" 

"They  call  me  Little  Warrior,  son  of  the  Farmer 
of  the  Three  Wells,"  answered  Rennoske,  smiling. 
"I  risked  but  little  —  the  trick  is  simple  enough 
when  one  knows." 

"And  where  learned  you  the  use  of  the  sword?" 
asked  another  of  the  brothers,  coming  up. 

"That  I  know  not,"  answered  Rennoske,  smiling 
still.  "Wouldst  try  thy  hand?  I  am  ready,  sword 
or  pole,  in  play  or  to  the  death." 

"Gods  about  us  —  nay!"  the  second  brother 
replied,  making  a  wry  face.  "My  first  brother  lies 
dead,  my  fifth  and  seventh  wounded.  There  would 
be  more  in  the  spirit  land  but  for  thee.  Should  we 
now  turn  quarrelsome  for  naught?  It  is  enough 
that  our  heads  will  tumble  if  this  come  to  the  Black 
Boar's  ears." 


ARMOR  SEEN  IN  THE  SUNSET      151 

And  he  pointed  to  the  four  armored  men  stretched 
grotesquely  upon  the  now  red  grass.  "Aye,  and 
thy  head,  too,  Little  Warrior." 

"Who  hath  finished  the  other  two?"  Rennoske 
queried,  his  fingers  fitting  familiarly  about  the  hilt 
of  his  sword. 

"We  five  lads  here,"  answered  the  first  bare-legged 
lad.  "That  was  but  an  easy  matter  after  thou 
hadst  shown  us  the  ankle  trick.  See,  our  father 
comes  to  speak  with  thee." 

The  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees  advanced  upon 
Rennoske  with  quiet  dignity.  He  bowed  profoundly, 
his  broad  shoulders  almost  touching  the  grass.  He 
rose  again  and  spoke  solemnly: 

"Little  Warrior,  this  day  lost  I  one  of  my  eight 
sons  at  the  hands  of  the  Matsuyama.  Well  might  I 
have  lost  more  but  for  thee  and  thy  courage.  Con- 
sider, therefore,  from  henceforth,  my  seven  remaining 
sons  ever  at  thy  service.  Many  offered  sympathy, 
many  pitied;  but  none  helped.  This  day  a  man  hath 
come  among  us." 

"Reverend  sir,"  Rennoske  replied  boyishly,  "it  is 
with  difficulty  I  seem  to  answer  questions  concern- 
ing myself.  It  is  hard  for  me  to  see  into  myself  with 
clearness.  Know,  then,  that  a  certain  hatred  for  the 
armor  these  men  wore  fired  my  sudden  fury  more 
than  the  cause  of  thee  and  thy  sons. 

"Many  words  had  I  spoken  this  day,  fraught  with 


152     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

wild  and  boastful  saying.  It  was  but  meet  that  I  do 
that  which  would  make  me  not  a  braggart  in  the 
eyes  of  the  good  people  of  Takenaka.  But  four  of 
the  black-armored  knights  showed  themselves  this 
day  among  us.  When  more  come  and  I  vanquish 
them,  then  shall  it  be  time  for  praise." 

In  the  gathering  darkness  the  Tapper  of  Laquer 
Trees  turned  his  head  slowly  to  the  right,  to  the  left, 
then  behind  him.  He  seemed  satisfied  that  no  one 
overheard,  yet  he  whispered  the  words: 

"  By  yonder  oaks  where  stood  the  targets,  O  Kina 
and  many  other  brave  hearts  meet  to  talk  of  these 
grave  things.  Join  us  with  the  coming  of  the  stars. 
Move  warily  through  the  crowd  —  there  may  be 
spies.  Thou  comprehendest?" 

Rennoske  nodded  and  turned  upon  his  heel.  Most 
of  the  crowd  had  gone  to  their  homes  in  silence, 
most  of  them  with  frightened  hearts,  for  the  slaying 
of  four  Samurai  presaged  more  blood  and  persecution 
to  come. 

The  kites  were  down,  the  children  tucked  in  their 
beds.  Yet  there  were  many  who  stayed  about 
in  little  groups,  discussing  the  terrible  events  of 
the  day. 

As  Rennoske  swaggered  unconsciously  in  and  out 
among  them,  there  was  ever  a  nudge  to  a  neighbor 
and  a  whispered,  "There  is  the  brave  lad,"  and  an 
answering,  "'Tis  a  pity  one  so  young  should  risk 


ARMOR  SEEN  IN  THE  SUNSET      153 

his  head.  The  Matsuyama  will  seek  him  out  for 
this." 

"Aye,"  another  would  whisper,  "the  Matsuyama 
are  strong  and  terrible  in  the  land." 

Some  of  this  the  lad  heard,  some  he  did  not;  but 
none  of  it  moved  him.  A  great  joy  rilled  every  inch 
of  him.  He  had  a  sword,  a  sharp  sword  that  he 
had  used  and  found  a  friend.  He  strolled  along, 
sticking  the  point  of  it  into  the  ground  as  he 
walked,  thinking  brave  thoughts  and  slaying  many 
unseen  enemies. 

He  walked  to  the  shade  of  a  maple  and  looked  out 
over  the  lawn,  now  covered  by  the  first  soft  blue 
shades  of  night.  There  were  but  a  few  straggling 
figures  upon  it  and  they  slowly  wended  their  way 
toward  the  village.  He  looked  up  through  the  leafy 
network  above  his  head.  The  stars  were  coming 
out. 

They  sat  in  a  ring  by  the  two  oaks,  fifty  or  sixty 
men.  He  recognized  O  Kina,  the  old  soldier,  who 
was  talking  now  in  his  cracked  voice,  telling  them 
how  easily  a  rebellion  would  be  started,  and,  like  a 
stone  rolling  down  the  snow-covered  side  of  a  moun- 
tain, would  gather  as  it  went. 

The  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees  was  there  with  his 
seven  sons.  Between  him  and  them  Rennoske  sat. 
The  talk  was  of  great  interest  to  him.  The  recital 
of  the  many  wrongs  stirred  his  blood.  The  plans 


154    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

of  deeds  to  do  he  drank  in  like  a  thirsty  man  at  a 
well. 

He  was  interested,  keenly  interested.  So  much 
so  that  he  did  not  feel  a  gentle  tug  at  his  kimono 
sleeve.  Often  it  came,  then  it  stopped,  and  a  sigh 
went  with  the  stopping.  It  was  Kiku  San. 

She  heard  the  angry  words,  the  grumblings  of 
hate,  the  vows  of  vengeance.  She  saw  the  sparkle 
of  eyes  in  the  starlight.  Was  it  not  her  Little 
Warrior's  eyes  that  gleamed  the  brightest? 

The  purport  of  their  words  meant  but  little  to 
her.  She  knew  that  it  was  late,  and  she  was 
cold;  knew  that  she  was  forgotten,  too.  She  tucked 
her  tiny  arms  under  her  sleeves,  snuggled  her  chin 
into  the  collar  of  her  kimono,  and  trotted  home 
alone. 

It  was  quite  late  when  Rennoske  arrived  at  the 
shoji  upon  the  tiny  plateau,  with  its  three  stone  wells 
and  the  two  cherry  trees  before  it.  He  had  hid  his 
sword  under  a  shelving  rock  on  the  way  to  the  vil- 
lage, and  covered  it  over  by  a  heap  of  brushwood. 
He  was  surprised  to  see  Miyoshi  sitting  by  the 
doorstep,  a  shoji  wall  slid  back  behind  him. 

"Fine  holiday-making  have  we  here,"  Miyoshi 
cried,  jumping  to  his  feet  at  sight  of  his  foster-son. 
"Prowling  round  o'  nights  —  hei!  Art  studying 
the  ways  of  bandits,  boy?  So,  take  this  for  thy 
nonsense." 


ARMOR  SEEN  IN  THE  SUNSET      155 

And  the  farmer  thwacked  him  soundly  over  the 
legs  with  a  cudgel. 

Rennoske  jumped  and  dodged  past  the  old  man, 
laughing  the  while.  A  stream  of  "hulking  boy!" 
and  "lazy  swine!"  and  "presuming  puppy!"  poured 
from  the  old  man's  lips  as  he  limped  about  after 
the  ever-dodging  boy,  his  stick  missing  a  score  of 
times. 

"Where  wert  thou  lagging  and  what  didst  thou  do 
at  this  hour?" 

"You  should  embrace  me  instead  of  whipping," 
answered  Rennoske  brassily.  "This  day  have  I 
slain  two  Matsuyama  swordsmen  single-handed." 

The  farmer  raised  his  hands  above  his  head  in 
comic  supplication. 

"The  gods  bear  witness,"  he  moaned,  "if  the  boy 
hath  not  lost  what  little  sense  he  had.  Slain  two 
of  the  Matsuyama  he  says  —  hei!  The  moonbeams 
are  in  his  head.  The  flowers  of  the  night  make  him 
dream. 

"First,  Osaki  comes  not;  now  my  son  is  crazed. 
What  have  I  done  that  such  wo  comes  upon  me? 
Slain  two  of  the  Matsuyama  indeed!  To  bed, 
hulking  lad,  and  sleep  off  thy  moon-drunkenness. 
Hei!  he  hath  a  fox!  Hei!  the  boy  is  daft!" 

Miyoshi  howled  while  Rennoske  slid  back  the 
shoji  wall  of  his  compartment,  rolled  himself  in  his 
bedding,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep. 


i56    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Slain  the  Matsuyama!"  Miyoshi  kept  on 
bawling.  "Slain  the  Matsuyama!" 

But  Kiku  San  heard,  and  knew  who  spoke  the 
truth.  High  on  his  pedestal  climbed  her  hero, 
while  Osaki  faded  away. 


Chapter  XIII 
A  Rolling  Stone  of  Hate 

KIKU  SAN  was  blessed  with  three  things  — 
beauty,  youth,  and  an  overwhelming  love. 
Balancing  the  scale,  she  was  cursed  with 
three,  or  so  she  considered  them  —  a  conscience,  a 
keen  ear,  and  a  heart-burning  faculty  of  borrowing 
trouble.  The  second  curse  was  subservient  to  the 
first,  for  the  conscience  keeping  her  awake  at  night, 
the  keen  ear  heard  things.  From  both  she  borrowed 
the  trouble. 

What  was  on  her  conscience  shall  appear  here- 
after; what  she  heard  shall  be  learned  now. 

She  lay  awake  one  night,  about  a  week  after  the 
holiday  and  the  fray.  The  conscience  was  giving 
her  a  terrible  battle,  a  battle  that  called  for  a  sacri- 
fice of  her  life  perhaps.  The  one  side  said  to  keep 
quiet  about  the  thing,  the  other  bade  her  tell  all. 

She  was  just  coming  to  a  compromise,  which 
included  the  telling  of  the  thing  to  the  one  in  the 
compartment  of  paper  next  her,  when  she  heard  that 
some  one  move.  She  had  not  lived  under  this  roof 
with  her  Little  Warrior  for  all  these  years  without 


158     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

learning  that  he  slept  like  a  log.  Why,  then,  this 
scraping? 

She  heard  a  dull  thud,  that  must  be  his  knee  on 
the  floor.  She  next  distinguished  the  scrape  of 
straw  on  straw.  That  told  her  plainly  that  he  was 
putting  on  his  sandals.  Ominous  other  noises  told 
her  that  he  was  dressing  himself,  and,  worst  of  all, 
she  heard  the  frame  creak  and  slide  back. 

She  knew  that  the  paper  to  right  of  her  led  to  the 
rear  of  the  house,  the  one  to  the  left  to  Rennoske's 
room,  the  one  at  her  head  was  where  her  father  lay, 
and  the  one  at  the  foot  of  her  bedding  opened  on  to 
the  side  of  the  house  facing  the  path  to  the  rice 
fields. 

She  more  than  heard;  she  saw  this  wall  slide  back 
a  little.  There  was  enough  light  for  her  to  see  the 
doubling  of  the  paper.  A  slight  creak  and  it  slid 
back  again.  She  heard  a  soft  step  in  the  grass, 
several  other  hurried  ones  farther  away  —  then 
silence. 

Sitting  bolt  upright  in  bed,  her  trouble-borrowing 
sense  made  her  wonder  what  was  to  be  done  about 
this.  Her  Little  Warrior  had  risen  up  in  the  night 
and  dressed  himself,  sneaked  out  of  the  house,  and 
gone  in  the  direction  of  Takenaka. 

What  should  she  do  —  wake  and  tell  her  father? 
That  might  make  the  boy  angry  when  he  returned. 
Would  he  return,  or  was  he  gone  for  good,  tired  of 


A   ROLLING    STONE    OF    HATE      159 

this  narrow  farm  life?  He  was  young  and  strong, 
and  the  world  was  wide.  He  had  nothing  there  but 
labor  in  the  rice  fields  and  charcoal  burning  in  the 
evening.  How  could  she  expect  to  keep  him  there, 
this  great  godlike  boy? 

It  was  some  time  since  he  told  her  of  his  love; 
never  since  he  knew  she  was  the  betrothed  of  Osaki. 
Had  he  indeed  gone  forever  out  of  her  life?  The 
thing  on  her  conscience  cried  double  shame,  for  it 
was  for  him  that  she  had  done  it. 

Kiku  San  spent  that  night  shivering  under  the 
coverlet,  her  ears  alert,  yet  hoping  against  hope  for 
the  returning  footstep.  There  was  trouble  enough 
without  her  borrowing  it  now. 

Still  the  thing  on  her  conscience  fought  on.  In 
the  silence  of  the  night  she  made  a  vow  to  the  gods 
that  if  he  would  but  return  to  her  she  would  tell 
him  all  and  take  what  came  of  it  without  a  murmur. 

At  the  fiftieth  repetition  of  her  prayer  she  was 
rewarded  by  a  soft  rustling  in  the  grass  outside  the 
shoji.  Yes,  the  paper  moved  back  as  before;  there 
were  the  same  scrapings  in  the  room  next  hers. 

Inari  and  all  the  gods  be  praised!  She  heard 
distinctly  through  the  thin  paper  walls  that  separated 
them  the  soft,  steady  breathing  of  her  Little  Warrior. 
She  fell  asleep  herself,  content. 

She  was  a  clumsy  girl  in  the  rice  fields  that  next 
morning.  Often  her  father  reproved  her.  The 


160    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

whole  four  worked  among  the  green  stalks,  for  this 
was  transplanting  time.  The  farmer  found  occa- 
sion to  prod  Rennoske,  too;  the  boy  seemed  unable 
to  keep  his  eyes  open.  Hei — what  was  wrong 
with  these  two  laggards? 

Rennoske's  fault  was  plainly  from  lack  of  sleep, 
while  the  girl  developed  a  certain  shyness  whenever 
she  looked  at  her  foster-brother.  She  was  glad  when 
the  day  was  over,  gladder  because  she  had  no  chance 
to  speak  to  him. 

That  night  she  heard  him  sneak  out  and  come  back 
again.  This  state  of  affairs  continued  for  a  week. 
At  the  end  of  this  time  the  girl  was  having  another 
sleepless  conscience-battle  that  continued  far  into 
the  night.  She  heard  the  boy's  steady  breathing 
close  to  her  and  knew  he  slept  soundly. 

A  sound,  oft  repeated,  found  its  way  into  her 
semiconsciousness.  It  was  the  hooting  of  an  owl. 
It  seemed  strange  to  her  that  the  bird  should  come 
so  near  the  house.  They  stayed,  she  knew,  higher 
up  upon  the  mountains. 

Louder  it  grew  with  every  moment,  until  it  seemed 
outside  the  shoji.  She  heard  Rennoske  stir  uneasily, 
followed  by  the  usual  scrapings;  and  after  these  the 
frame  slid  back  at  her  feet.  Moving  as  silently  as 
she  could,  she  crept  along  the  matting,  and  when 
the  shoji  wall  slid  back  again  she  opened  her  own  a 
tiny  crack. 


A   ROLLING    STONE    OF    HATE      161 

Outside  the  moonlight  streamed  on  grass,  well, 
and  tree.  She  could  see  nothing  at  first  but  the 
creeping  boy,  who  was  by  this  time  about  thirty  feet 
from  the  house.  On  all  fours  he  went,  slowly  and 
stealthily. 

The  owl  hoot  sounded  again.  She  heard  an 
answer.  Then  from  the  grass,  behind  the  trees  out 
of  the  very  earth,  it  seemed,  men  sprang  up.  She 
saw  that  one  or  two  had  swords;  but  the  arms  most 
of  them  carried  were  spears  made  of  long  poles  with 
knives  lashed  to  the  end,  while  three  or  four  had 
broadaxes. 

They  saw  Rennoske  making  his  way  toward  them, 
so  they  turned,  waving  him  to  follow  on.  Kiku 
watched  them  steal  along  in  single  file,  the  moon- 
light making  odd  black  shadows  on  the  ground 
behind  them.  Soon  she  saw  Rennoske  again.  He 
was  coming  after  them  at  a  dog-trot.  As  he  turned 
the  corner  there  by  the  boulder  something  he  held 
gleamed  in  the  silver  light,  gleamed  brightly.  Kiku 
saw  that  it  was  a  long  sword. 

She  hid  her  head  beneath  the  coverlet  to  drown 
her  soft  sobbing.  Dawn  was  breaking  when  the 
frame  slid  back  and  the  heavy  breathing  was  beside 
her  through  the  paper  walls  again. 

With  the  morning  came  a  fine  drizzle  of  rain.  At 
the  scant  breakfast  Miyoshi  complained  of  his  hip, 
but  limped  off  to  the  fields  in  spite  of  it,  his  wife 


162     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

coming  with  him.  Rennoske  and  Kiku  followed 
behind  at  a  little  distance. 

The  scene  of  this  morning,  where  every  bush  and 
tree  was  rain-pearled,  brought  suddenly  to  the  girl's 
mind  the  dew  of  the  night  before. 

She  tried  to  choke  down  the  sob;  but  on 
seeing  the  boulder  of  granite,  where  but  a  few 
hours  before  Rennoske  stole  by  with  the  sword 
in  his  hand,  the  sob  came,  turned  into  a  choking 
sigh. 

"What  grieves  thee,  gentlest  flower?"  he  whispered 
tenderly.  "Why  art  thou  sad?" 

Her  father  and  mother  were  out  of  sight  behind 
the  rock,  so  she  ventured  timidly: 

"There  is  that  which  lies  heavy  on  my  heart, 
Little  Warrior." 

"I  know,"  he  answered  cheerfully. 

She  looked  oddly  at  him. 

"Osaki  comes  not  —  what  of  that?  Have  pa- 
tience, ships  go  and  come.  Perhaps  he  will  be  here 
with  the  wild  rose,  or  e'en  when  the  chrysanthemums 
bloom  again. 

"There  will  be  another  singing  of  the  nightin- 
gale. There  are  contrary  winds  and  angry  seas. 
Perhaps  he  is  held  back." 

"It  is  not  for  Osaki  I  grieve,"  the  girl  answered. 

"Kikii  San!"  was  borne  through  the  rain. 

"Come,  gentlest  flower,"  Rennoske  said,  catching 


A    ROLLING    STONE    OF    HATE      163 

her  by  the  hand.  "Thy  father  calls.  Grieve  not 
unknowingly.  Come,  be  gay!" 

And  he  pulled  her  along,  passing  the  boulder  at  a 
trot.  Instantly  she  thought  of  the  night  before 
again,  for  he  had  passed  here  sword  in  hand  at 
this  same  pace. 

Why,  she  asked  herself,  must  he  of  all  men 
remind  her  of  Osaki?  Was  it  not  enough  that 
her  conscience  pricked  her  by  the  hour,  ever  call- 
ing the  figure  of  the  seal-hunter  before  her  mind's 
eye?  Must  he,  the  prime  cause,  add  salt  to  the 
wound  ? 

"Lazy  wench!"  Miyoshi  was  thundering  in  her 
ears  now.  "And  thou,  too,  hulking  boy!  To  work 
and  quickly  —  isoge!" 

In  a  minute  four  backs  were  bent  in  the  rain,  while 
eight  hands  were  busy  among  the  young,  green 
shoots,  pulling  and  weeding,  throwing  away  and 
planting  again. 

Toward  noon  Miyoshi  complained  of  his  hip  and 
feared  to  work  longer.  He  climbed  out  of  the  ditch, 
Kiku  watching  him  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye. 
She  saw  him  scrape  the  mud  from  his  ankles,  put 
on  his  sandals  again,  and  turn  toward  the  house;  but 
she  was  thwarted  in  her  desire.  Her  father  turned 
and  called  back,  while  her  heart  thumped  madly  at 
every  word. 

"Come,  wife,  to  the  house.     Let  these  lazy  two 


164    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

finish  the  day  at  the  task.  The  rain  is  chastisement 
enough  for  them." 

Kiku  watched  her  father  and  mother  walk  slowly 
up  the  path,  round  the  boulder,  their  somber  kimonos 
disappearing  from  view,  swallowed  up  by  the  misty 
rain.  She  was  alone  with  her  Little  Warrior! 

After  an  hour  of  silence  she  wondered  what  had 
been  her  fear,  for  the  boy  never  said  a  word.  Indeed, 
his  mind  was  busy,  for  the  rice  plants  to  him  were  no 
rice  plants  at  all,  but  armed  peasants,  each  placed 
at  an  even  distance  from  the  other.  He  hummed 
them  a  war-song  as  he  did  so;  he  smiled  as  they  stood 
up  straight  under  the  rain. 

"Art  thou  not  tired?"  she  ventured,  watching 
him;  for  his  fingers  had  begun  to  slow  at  his  task. 
The  reason  was  that  his  brain  worked  fast. 

"Why  should  I  be?"  he  answered  vaguely,  without 
looking  up.  "The  task  is  simple." 

Kiku  could  have  deluded  herself  into  believing 
that  she  had  done  her  part  of  the  bargain.  Left 
alone  with  Rennoske  and  given  the  opportunity,  she 
had  begun  the  conversation,  with  the  result  already 
shown :  Rennoske  going  on  with  his  task,  paying  no 
heed  to  her. 

But  as  has  been  shown  before,  Kiku  San  had  a 
conscience.  She  had  promised  her  gods  something 
if  they  would  grant  her  a  boon.  The  boon  was 
granted  —  her  task  lay  yet  before  her. 


A    ROLLING    STONE    OF    HATE      165 

The  rain  might  soak  her  to  the  skin,  the  fog  en- 
velop the  valley  below  her;  but  this  time  the  little 
voice  within  her  that  cried  "Tell,  tell!"  would  not 
down. 

Yet  there  was  that  to  be  found  out  before  she  told. 
She  knew  the  man  beside  her  to  be  honest,  upright, 
and  straightforward.  The  telling  might  and  prob- 
ably would  make  him  shun  her  like  the  unclean 
thing  she  felt  herself  to  be.  He  would  cast  her  from 
him  —  good.  She  would  know  what  he  meant  to 
do  first. 

"You  should  be  tired,  Little  Warrior,"  she  began 
timidly. 

"Why  so?"  he  answered. 

"You  have  had  but  little  sleep  these  twelve  nights 
past." 

Rennoske  yanked  a  rice  plant  clean  from  its  roots, 
held  it  still  in  his  hand  while  he  stared  at  her.  She 
shivered  under  his  gaze. 

"Thou  knowest  then?"  This  in  a  far-away 
voice. 

"I  know." 

"And  thou  hast  seen?" 

"Aye." 

"How  much?" 

"Last  night  I  saw  when  they  came  for  you,  all 
else  I  heard." 

"Thou  wilt  not  betray  us?" 


i66    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

The  words,  snapped  so  suddenly,  caught  Kiku  off 
her  guard. 

"How  can  I  betray  that  which  I  know  not?"  she 
answered. 

He  looked  relieved.  She  saw  him  hesitate,  hold- 
ing his  lip  between  his  thumb  and  forefinger,  as  of 
old.  Her  woman's  instinct  told  her  a  lie  and  the 
truth  fought  for  mastery  of  his  thought.  It  was  the 
truth  she  wanted  —  let  him  not  dishonor  himself 
to  save  her  pain;  it  was  the  truth  she  wanted,  so 
she  cried  out  for  it. 

"I  am  a  daughter  of  Nippon,  Little  Warrior.  I 
betray  naught  that  man  may  deign  to  tell.  Tell  me 
where  you  go.  Is  it  for  war?  Do  you  seek  to  leave 
my  father's  house?" 

He  looked  her  in  the  eyes  and  answered  firmly  yet 
simply : 

"Aye,  gentlest  flower,  it  is  for  war,  and  in  time 
will  I  leave  our  father's  house." 

She  swayed  a  little  on  hearing  the  expected.  A 
dry  little  sob  quivered  in  her  throat  while  her  eyes 
were  tear-dimmed  through  the  rain.  The  sight  of 
her  swept  away  the  throbbing  of  war-drums  that 
buzzed  all  day  in  his  ears.  She  looked  so  frail,  so 
loving. 

"Gentlest  flower."  His  words  were  soft  and 
tenderly  spoken.  "Little  Warrior  I  am  called. 
Little  Warrior  shall  I  be,  O  Kiku.  A  hatred  of  the 


A   ROLLING    STONE    OF    HATE      167 

Matsuyama  burns  within  my  breast,  and  there  are 
many  wrongs  to  be  righted  —  aye,  more  than  are 
leaves  upon  the  maple.  My  brothers  have  chosen 
me  to  lead  them.  I  know  no  other  way  than  that  I 
should  draw  my  sword  and  go  forward  to  the  foe." 

Kiku  sobbed  again. 

"Yet  why  shouldst  thou  grieve?  Thou  art  the 
promised  bride  of  Osaki.  When  I  return  victorious, 
thou  shalt  have  drunk  the  nine  times  nine  times 
in  his  house.  I  shall  then  be  ever  a  brother  to 
thee." 

"Nay,  nay,  nay!"  cried  the  girl.  "I  want  him 
not  —  nor  is  it  for  a  brother  I  want  thee!" 

"I  am  sorry,  then,"  he  answered,  not  understand- 
ing her  true  meaning,  "I  cannot  bring  him  back." 

"Listen,  Little  Warrior,"  came  the  girl's  voice  in 
a  tense,  tragic  whisper.  "Call  me  what  you  will. 
Tell  my  father  and  let  him  slay  me.  This  burden  I 
cannot  bear  longer  on  my  soul  lest  it  crush  me. 

"That  day  I  was  upon  the  Maya  Maru  —  re- 
member —  you  and  Osaki  each  cried  to  the  other 
that  I  was  stolen.  I  came  to  the  deck  with  Osaki 
when  the  crew  and  yourself  were  at  the  fencing.  I 
saw  him  go  down  for  the  trial  with  you. 

"Then  it  seemed  an  evil  spirit  came  to  me  as  I 
stood  there,  whispering:  'Thou  needst  not  marry 
Osaki,  whom  thou  hatest.  There  is  a  way  out,  if 
thou  wilt  but  take  it.'  It  was  you  I  desired,  Little 


i68     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Warrior,  more  so  than  ever  when  I  saw  you  vanquish 
the  crew. 

"I  crept  down  into  the  very  bowels  of  the  ship  — 
none  saw  me.  It  was  dark  there.  Great  rats 
scurried  about  and  squealed.  I  crept  over  many 
boxes  and  hard  things.  My  hand  struck  one.  I 
felt  it.  It  was  a  great,  sharp  knife. 

"Need  you  know  more,  Little  Warrior?  With 
mine  own  hands  I  cut  and  dug  and  scratched  until 
I  had  made  a  hole  in  the  wood.  I  felt  the  water 
trickling,  trickling  down.  I  was  cutting  still  when 
I  heard  the  angry  voices,  and  came  up.  You  re- 
member the  lie  that  came  from  my  lips  when  I  prayed 
for  Osaki's  ship  ? 

"Now  you  know  why  I  weep,  Little  Warrior.  I 
weep  not  for  Osaki.  He  is  dead !  I  have  murdered 
him.  It  was  for  you,  Little  Warrior,  it  was  for  you ! " 

Kiku  San  waited.  There  was  no  answer  from 
Rennoske. 

"Do  you  forgive  me?  Will  you  tell  my  father?" 
she  went  on.  "  I  care  not — I  will  have  none  of 
Osaki  —  I  will  marry  you  or  no  man." 

Still  Rennoske  was  silent.  She  dared  all  and 
looked  at  him.  He  was  staring  down  the  mountain- 
side. She  crept  over  and  looked  down. 

Toiling  up  the  hill  she  beheld  a  tiny  man  —  a 
dwarf.  Upward,  ever  upward  he  came,  through  the 
fog  and  driving  rain. 


A   ROLLING    STONE    OF    HATE      169 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

She  looked  at  his  face.  His  eyes  were  open  wide 
in  terror,  the  veins  in  his  neck  stood  out  like  whip- 
cords. She  heard  him  snarl  like  a  wild  beast,  then 
she  saw  him  run  swiftly  up  the  mud  dike.  He  came 
back  again  with  a  heavy  stone  and  placed  it  upon  the 
very  edge  of  the  slope. 

With  a  cry  of  hate  he  pushed  the  rock  over  the 
steep  incline.  At  the  cry  the  creature  below  looked 
up.  It  was  the  ugly  dwarf  that  had  passed  them  in 
the  litter.  Fascinated,  she  watched  the  stone  as  it 
bounded  down. 

It  struck.  There  was  a  yell  of  pain.  Two  hairy 
arms  were  thrown  up.  Then  the  thing  lay  still! 

Kiku,  horror  stricken,  turned  her  face  again  upon 
Rennoske.  There  again  were  the  staring  eyes,  the 
blank,  childlike  face. 

"Little  Warrior  —  Little  Warrior!"  she  called, 
tugging  at  his  kimono  sleeve.  "Did  you  hear  my 
tale?  Do  you  know  your  gentlest  flower  is  a  mur- 
deress? Did  you  hear?" 

She  knew  the  signs  of  his  malady,  and  rose  and 
gently  led  him  home.  Had  he  heard  her?  Was  it 
that  which  brought  on  the  fit?  Who  was  the  dwarf? 
Why  had  he  hurled  down  the  stone? 

She  looked  back  to  where  the  body  lay.  It  was 
moving!  It  raised  its  head,  turned,  and  —  crawling, 
crawling  —  went  slowly  down  the  hill. 


Chapter 
A  Broken  Sword  in  the  Forest 

ONCE  again  it  was  spring,  and  the  cherry 
blossoms  were  pink  clouds  against  the 
tender  green  of  the  valley  and  the  blue  of 
an  April  sky. 

The  mountain  torrent  roared,  for  the  water  was 
white  to  the  overflow  from  the  melting  snows  of  the 
towering  mountain. 

Rennoske  of  the  house  of  the  Red  River,  heredi- 
tary Daimyo  of  the  province,  was  twenty-one; 
another  winter  had  slipped  by  in  the  shoji  of  Miyoshi 
upon  the  tiny  plateau.  There  is  no  need  to  tell 
again  the  story  of  that  winter;  it  was  the  same  as 
the  one  that  had  gone  before  it  —  scant  food,  little 
warmth,  lack  of  proper  clothing. 

Never  was  the  nightingale's  song  more  welcome, 
never  the  rays  of  the  sun  a  gladder  sight  as  they 
stirred  the  sluggish  blood  of  the  elders  and  brought 
new  life  into  the  veins  of  the  young. 

Yet  things  had  happened  —  unknown,  stealthy 
things  —  for  those  that  had  eyes  to  see  them. 
Miyoshi's  eyes  were  dim,  else  he  could  have  plainly 


A    BROKEN    SWORD  171 

traced  footprints  in  the  mud  about  his  house  o* 
mornings  or  seen  tracks  in  the  snow. 

Kiku  did  not  need  to  see  them  —  she  had  ears  to 
know  what  was  going  on.  She  had  heard  the  words 
of  Rennoske,  "It  is  for  war,"  and  had  understood, 
though  she  dreaded  the  time  she  knew  must  be  close 
at  hand. 

As  for  the  promise  to  her  gods,  she  had  done  her 
part  of  that  and  told.  Whether  the  man  had  heard 
she  knew  not.  She  could  never  bring  herself  to  tell 
him  again,  even  if  she  had  had  the  opportunity; 
which  she  hadn't. 

Rennoske  himself  had  been  a  year  free  from  any 
sign  of  his  sickness,  leaner,  yet  mightier  muscled 
than  before.  The  boyishness  was  still  in  his  fine 
eyes,  but  with  it  came  a  settled  look,  a  look  of 
authority.  He  was  a  born  leader,  for  heredity 
will  speak,  no  matter  how  environment  seeks  to 
crush  it  out.  His  ancestors  were  noblemen  and 
fighters  for  generations  untold. 

Hampered  by  a  strange  malady,  his  heritage  un- 
known, his  position  in  life  little  more  than  a  bond 
slave,  yet  he  had  the  knack  of  command,  the  gift 
of  forcing  attention  when  he  spoke. 

Under  his  foster-father's  roof  he  obeyed  the  farmer 
in  all  things.  By  two  oaks  on  the  lawn  at  Takenaka 
it  was  he  who  was  obeyed,  for  a  reason  none  knew. 
His  were  not  the  only  tracks  through  the  snow  nor 


172     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

the  only  footprints  in  the  mud.  Many  by-paths  led 
to  Takenaka;  many  feet  had  worn  a  familiar  path. 
It  was  for  war. 

The  shoji  walls  were  only  partly  up  on  this 
particular  night,  for  the  air  was  warm.  The  cherry 
trees  looked  white  in  the  moonlight,  the  shadows  of 
twig  and  branch  black  on  the  grass  by  contrast. 

Kiku  San  sat  in  her  usual  place  in  the  alcove 
by  the  green  vase,  looking  out  at  the  trees.  The 
petals  were  beginning  to  drop,  she  noticed;  some 
swirled  to  the  ground  in  the  evening  breeze.  Let 
them  all  fall,  she  thought;  they  were  the  signs  of 
her  dearly  bought  freedom. 

The  farmer's  wife  scoured  a  pot  by  the  doorway. 
Miyoshi  sat  close  to  her,  munching  a  bit  of  birch- 
bark.  Rennoske  tried  to  be  still,  but  his  eyes  wan- 
dered from  the  waterfall's  spray  to  the  path  to  the 
rice  fields.  Beyond  was  Takenaka  and  action. 

The  farmer  rose  slowly  and  painfully,  shuffled  to 
a  cupboard  that  stood  on  the  floor,  opened  it,  and 
drew  out  a  paper  lantern.  This  he  rattled  open, 
struck  a  spark  from  the  tinder  box,  and  lit  the  wax- 
berry  candle  inside.  Then  he  hung  the  lantern  from 
a  hook  on  one  of  the  bamboo  rafters,  went  back  to 
the  cupboard,  and  brought  out  the  wooden  board 
and  the  chessmen. 

"Come,  son,"  he  called,  squatting  down  before 
it.  "Let  us  see  if  thou  can  beat  me  at  shogi  — hei?" 


A    BROKEN    SWORD  173 

Rennoske  never  looked,  never  moved,  answering 
in  a  far-away  voice: 

"  It  grieves  me  that  I  cannot  play  tonight,  O  my 
father." 

"Wherefore  so?"  snapped  the  farmer.  "Is  thy 
brain  fogged?  Art  dreaming  of  turning  bandit? 
Thou  canst  not  play  in  good  sooth!  Hei,  thou 
hulking  boy!  Hither,  lest  I  cuff  thee  upon  the 
ears!" 

"Wherefore  begin  that  which  cannot  be  finished?" 
Rennoske  questioned  by  way  of  reply.  "When  the 
moon  casts  no  shadow  on  the  pine  tree  must  I  be 
upon  the  green  before  Takenaka.  Many  men  wait 
there  for  me." 

"  Dost  thou  hear  him  ? "  Miyoshi  chortled.  "  Many 
men  wait  for  him  at  Takenaka  —  ho-ho!  They  do 
not  fly  kites  in  the  evening,  lad.  Get  thee  to  bed, 
for  I  see  thou  art  loose  in  thy  mind  again." 

Rennoske  rose  and  went  to  his  corner  of  the  room. 
The  farmer  wisely  nodded  his  head;  he  thought 
his  advice  taken.  His  jaw  dropped  when  he  saw 
his  foster-son  before  him  again,  wearing  his  long 
kimono. 

"And  now  it  is  time,"  Miyoshi's  astonished  ears 
heard  him  say.  "I  must  don  my  armor  on  the  way, 
and  must  therefore  start  early.  I  would  stay  and 
help  with  the  transplanting,  but  I  fear  that  must 
wait  as  it  shall  in  many  fields  hereabouts. 


174     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Aye  and  farther  —  for  our  own  seed  sprouts 
now.  Many  gardens  grow  steel  instead  of  flowers. 
To  you,  O  my  father!  To  you,  O  my  mother!  To 
thee,  O  Kiku  San!  Saianara  —  I  salute  you!" 

And  he  bowed  to  the  matting. 

Miyoshi  saw  the  fire  in  his  eye;  this  was  no  joke, 
as  he  had  thought.  He  licked  his  dry  lips  as  he 
asked : 

"Whither  do  you  go,  lad?" 

"We  make  war  upon  the  Matsuyama.  An 
hundred  wait  at  Takenaka.  Messengers  have  trav- 
eled since  noon  to  Boruku.  There  shall  be  a  thou- 
sand odd  by  the  morning  of  the  second  day  hence." 

"Who  leads  them?" 

"Inari  willing,  I  do,  O  my  father." 

Miyoshi  the  Farmer  could  do  nothing  but  gurgle. 
Under  his  very  eyes!  Under  his  very  nose!  The 
boy  who  worked  in  the  rice  fields!  The  "hulking 
lad"  who  helped  him  with  the  charcoal!  He  a 
leader  of  a  thousand  men  against  the  Matsuyama! 

Oh,  incredible  thing  in  a  most  incredible  world! 
Osaki  the  Sailor  came  not  from  the  sea,  his  cracked- 
brained  son  to  lead  an  army  —  hei !  but  the  gods 
made  a  footstool  of  him  and  made  game  of  his 
cunning!  He  was  Japanese  enough,  however,  to 
swallow  his  chagrin  and  rise,  saying: 

"My  blessing  go  with  thee,  O  my  son.  Victory 
shine  on  thine  arms.  Forget  us  not.  Defeat  over- 


A    BROKEN    SWORD  175 

come  thee,  return  to  us  and  we  will  give  shelter. 
Saianara  —  I  salute  you!" 

Rennoske  turned  his  head  at  a  thump  upon  the 
matting.  He  looked  toward  the  sound  and  saw 
Kiku  lying  prone  upon  the  floor  on  her  face.  He  saw 
no  more,  for  he  turned  his  face  toward  the  path  to 
the  rice  fields.  He  did  not  once  look  back;  the 
royal  blood  of  a  fighting  race  took  its  toll.  This  was 
no  time  for  pity,  no  time  for  love.  With  head  erect 
he  passed  the  boulder  and  was  lost  to  sight  to  those 
in  the  shoji  upon  the  tiny  plateau. 

He  had  not  gone  far  along  the  moon-speckled 
path  when  a  hiss  and  a  rustle  of  leaves  halted  him. 

"A  snake's  hiss  in  the  grass  is  the  password,"  he 
whispered.  "Who  art  thou?" 

"It  is  I  —  O  Kina,"  came  a  cracked  voice. 

The  old  soldier  shambled  out,  bearing  a  heavy 
bundle.  Rennoske  came  toward  him,  and  the  two 
stood  in  the  deep  shadow  of  a  maple. 

"Thou  hast  on  no  leathern  shirt,  yet  thy  juban 
will  do  as  well,"  O  Kina  began.  "Take  off  thy 
kimono  —  nay,  bear  it  with  thee,  for  it  is  good  to 
lie  upon  nights.  Here  is  the  breastplate,"  and  he 
dived  into  the  bag,  returning  with  the  cuirass  in  his 
gnarled  old  hands.  "A  bit  rusty,  mayhap,  but  still 
able  to  hold  ofF  spear  thrusts.  The  chain  armor  for 
stopping  the  knife  stabs  goes  beneath  —  wait  —  I 
will  put  it  upon  thee." 


176    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

His  trembling  old  fingers  were  busy  with  lacings, 
straps,  and  buckles,  most  of  them  moldy  and  soft 
from  lack  of  use;  but  the  steel  shell  fitted,  for  the 
frame  of  O  Kina  had  shrunken  since  he  last  had  it  on. 

Toe  caps  and  instep  rings,  shin  plates  and  chain 
armor  for  the  calf  of  the  leg,  thigh  guards  and  the 
jointed  apron  —  the  old  soldier  talking  glibly  the 
while.  Horsemen  were  not  to  be  feared  —  it  was 
best  to  stand  —  the  beasts  feared  the  spears.  Raise 
the  arm  when  the  sword  swung  for  the  head,  if  it 
were  too  late  for  the  parry. 

So  babbled  O  Kina  while  the  armor  covered  the 
frame  of  Rennoske.  When  at  last  he  walked  toward 
the  path  again,  he  gleamed  and  shone  in  the  moon- 
light —  a  warlike  sight  for  old  0  Kina's  eyes. 

"Give  me  the  sword,"  he  called. 

O  Kina  handed  the  weapon  to  him  and  smiled 
again  at  the  firm  grip  of  the  gauntleted  fist.  They 
walked  the  rest  of  the  way  in  silence,  O  Kina  in  the 
rear,  bearing  the  kimono. 

Quite  a  different  sight  was  the  lawn  before 
Takenaka  that  moonlight  April  night.  Instead  of 
running  boys  with  kites,  there  was  spread  out  upon 
it  moving  black  things.  Men  these  were,  armed 
with  spear  and  ax.  They  rested  upon  their  arms  in 
odd  groups,  talking  softly  of  their  chances  of  gather- 
ing forces  as  they  went. 

They  had  been  told  to  make  as  little  noise  as 


A    BROKEN    SWORD  177 

possible;  but  something  they  now  saw  made  them 
forget  their  word.  Out  into  the  full  glow  of  the 
moonlight,  from  between  the  trees,  a  man  stepped 
out  before  them.  On  his  head  was  a  steel  helmet, 
from  top  to  toe  he  gleamed,  and  his  long  sword 
threw  back  the  glint  of  the  moonbeams. 

For  a  summer  and  a  winter  they  had  listened  to 
his  words  —  he  whose  station  in  life  was  above 
theirs,  they  knew,  had  planned  this  with  what 
seemed  supernatural  wisdom. 

He  it  was  told  where  the  messages  were  to  be 
sent  and  what  these  messages  should  be.  He  it  was 
who  bade  them  lash  their  knives  to  their  spears.  He 
had  sent  his  wisdom  through  other  mouthpieces  far 
and  wide  about  the  countryside. 

Working  by  day  in  the  fields,  he  had  spent  his 
nights  among  them,  till  the  little  band  grew  and 
grew,  and  now  the  name  of  the  Little  Warrior  was  a 
by-word  among  the  peasants.  From  the  day  of  the 
Boy's  Festival  —  here  on  this  very  lawn  —  they  had 
begun  to  love  him. 

Now  they  saw  him  standing  there  in  the  armor, 
brave,  noble,  and  the  shout  that  rose  to  their  lips 
would  not  down. 

"  Banzai  Ko  Samurai  I  Long  live  the  Little 
Warrior!" 

It  echoed  up  the  mountain  and  down  the  valley, 
waking  the  cool  glens,  vibrating  among  the  green 


178     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

hillocks.  The  women  and  children  heard  it  and 
trembled  in  their  rest. 

Rennoske  raised  the  sword  in  salutation  and  his 
voice  rang  out  clarion-clear: 

"Men  of  the  Land  of  the  Rising  Sun,  we  stand 
ready  to  strike  the  blow.  Long  have  we  suffered 
under  the  grinding  of  the  Matsuyama.  Our  land 
has  been  blighted,  our  cattle  taken,  our  houses 
burned,  and  our  men  and  women  slain. 

"It  is  enough  that  we  should  rise  against  them. 
Until  they  are  brought  beneath  our  heels,  never  shall 
I  live  in  the  land. 

"If  I  lead,  ye  must  follow.  If  I  fall,  ye  must  fall 
with  me.  Men  of  the  Land  of  the  Rising  Sun  —  I 
am  ready!" 

"Long  live  the  Little  Warrior!"  came  the  shout 
again.  "We  follow!" 

And  so  over  the  lawn  at  Takenaka,  past  the 
huddled  houses  of  the  village,  skirting  the  path  by 
the  granite  boulder  that  rose  black  against  the  moon- 
light, through  the  black  bogs  and  stagnant  pools  of 
the  forest,  marched  Rennoske,  hereditary  Daimyo  of 
the  province,  at  the  head  of  an  hundred  men. 

Many  times  during  the  night  was  the  serpent's 
hiss  heard  in  the  grass.  Many  times  one,  two,  or 
three  rudely  armed  men  came  out  to  join  him.  By 
midnight  they  came  to  the  opening  through  the 
trees  that  showed  the  way  to  the  white  road  to 


A    BROKEN    SWORD  179 

Boruku.  Here  they  rested,  two  hundred  and  twenty 
strong. 

A  little  after  sunrise  they  began  to  march  again, 
along  the  sandy  way,  flanked  by  the  waving,  green 
cattails. 

Out  of  a  cloud  of  dust  ahead  of  them  a  boy 
came  running.  Rennoske  recognized  him  as  the 
youngest  son  of  the  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees,  who, 
true  to  his  promise,  had  given  his  seven  sons  to  the 
cause. 

"How  goes  it  at  Boruku?"  Rennoske  asked. 

"The  news  spreads  quickly,  O  leader,"  replied  the 
boy.  "The  cormorant  fishers  leave  their  birds  in 
their  baskets  and  come  to  join  you.  Upon  the 
beach  they  gathered  this  morning,  sixty  in  all.  They 
should  be  upon  us  within  the  hour." 

"And  thy  eldest  brother?  Hast  seen  aught  of 
him?" 

"Aye,  0  leader.  We  passed  at  sundown  yester- 
e'en.  To  the  Village  of  the  Crooked  Oaks  he  is 
bent,  where  dwell  the  candle-makers.  He  told  me 
he  had  seen  many,  but  there  was  one  master  of  many 
coolies  yet  to  be  won  over." 

"Send  that  the  coolies  come  to  us,  for  they  are 
long-muscled  men  and  clever  with  the  knife.  Walk 
thou  with  us.  Much  running  hath  winded  thee." 

The  day  was  perfect;  the  birds  sang  in  the  trees; 
the  crickets  chirped  in  the  tall  grass.  Rennoske 


i8o    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

caught  the  spirit  of  it  all.  Victory  was  surely  his! 
Was  not  the  whole  countryside  coming  out  to 
meet  him?  From  Takenaka  to  here  was  less  than 
ten  miles,  yet  their  force  had  been  doubled.  At 
Boruku  sixty  more  were  to  enroll  under  his  banner. 

There  was  yet  the  winding  road  through  the 
marshes  and  the  uplands.  If  in  ten  miles  so  many 
had  come,  how  great  would  his  force  be  in  the  hun- 
dred that  lay  between  him  and  the  palace  of  his  foe  ? 

The  sixty  fishers  were  there  at  their  word.  By 
sunset  the  wax-workers  came. 

They  rested  for  the  second  night  in  a  grove  of 
sweet-smelling  pines  on  a  slope  above  a  curved 
beach,  their  army  numbering  now  three  hundred 
and  seventy. 

The  road  they  took  in  the  morning  ran  in  and  out 
along  the  beach.  There  were  no  villages,  for  the 
wind  swept  free  over  the  dunes  of  sand,  a  chill  wind 
even  in  summer,  while  winter  saw  it  a  blast.  Yet 
here  and  there  behind  a  sandy  hummock,  grown  over 
with  wiry  grass,  would  be  a  round  hovel  of  peat,  the 
home  of  some  fisherman. 

Some  of  these  showed  no  sign  of  habitation;  but 
as  the  little  army  came  within  hailing  distance  the 
doorways  of  many  would  be  blocked  by  a  man.  He 
would  embrace  his  wife,  shoulder  a  spear  or  club,  and 
make  his  way  across  the  sand  toward  the  band. 
Then  it  would  be: 


A    BROKEN    SWORD  181 

"I  seek  the  man  they  call  'Little  Warrior,'  who 
bids  us  rise  and  overthrow  the  oppressors  —  the 
Matsuyama." 

"I  am  that  man.  Do  you  come  of  your  own  free 
will?" 

"  I  do,  O  leader." 

"Join  the  ranks,  then  —  there  is  room  for  many." 

So  they  would  pass  on. 

At  the  crossroads  where  the  way  struck  off  sharply 
through  the  hills,  Rennoske  found  waiting  for  him 
the  second  son  of  the  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees.  He 
had  collected  a  band  of  fisherfolk  and  sailors  from 
the  shore  of  a  long-jutting  cape  that  ran  some 
halfscore  miles  into  the  sea. 

Forty-seven  there  were,  bronzed  men  and  well- 
built.  They  had  a  grievance  of  long  standing,  and 
waited  but  for  a  chance  to  strike  back  at  the  soldiers 
who  had  destroyed  their  nets  when  they  refused*  to 
give  a  week's  haul  to  the  junk  of  the  Matsuyama  that 
prowled  upon  their  peaceful  shores. 

On  the  third  night  from  Takenaka,  four  hundred 
and  ninety  armed  men  slept  on  the  outskirts  of  a 
village,  upon  the  steep  slope  of  a  mountain,  whose 
sides  fell  sheer  to  a  wide,  saucer-like  valley.  The 
Matsuyama  palace  and  its  grounds  was  at  the  other 
end,  near  the  mountains  that  showed  velvet-black  in 
the  starlight. 

Two  rivers  fed  this  valley  on  their  way  to  the  in- 


1 82     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

land  sea.  The  Obigawa  wound  a  snakelike  course 
behind  the  palace  grounds,  while  the  nearer  one,  the 
Nakugawa,  ran  swift  through  a  green  and  reeded 
plain,  whither  the  host  of  Rennoske  must  come  by 
sunset  the  following  day. 

During  the  night  many  came  from  village,  from 
crag-nestled  hamlet,  and  tea  plantation  the  country 
round.  With  them  came  the  other  sons  of  the 
Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees.  By  sunrise  the  army 
marched  down  the  slope,  numbering  the  full  expected 
thousand. 

When  the  sun  sank  rose-golden  behind  the  peaks 
to  west  of  them,  the  rebellious  peasants  found  them- 
selves on  the  green  plain  they  had  seen  from  the 
hills  the  night  before.  Facing  them  at  a  distance 
of  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  the  swift  stream  ran. 
To  their  left  was  a  belt  of  dense  forest,  whose  aisles 
wete  dark  enough  to  bear  out  any  weird  tale.  To 
the  right  stretched  the  plain,  sweeping  away  to  the 
mountains. 

There  the  first  sign  of  opposition  had  been  seen, 
for  clearly  distinguishable  in  the  afternoon  sunlight 
shone  a  mass  of  light-reflecting  armor.  This  they 
knew  to  be  the  Matsuyama  army,  yet  its  strength 
could  not  be  ascertained,  for  the  view  was  blocked 
by  many  rises  of  ground,  reeds,  and  trees.  Rennoske 
rested  his  men,  for  the  attack,  he  felt  sure,  must  be 
close  at  hand. 


A    BROKEN    SWORD  183 

As  he  lay  there  in  the  sheen  of  the  stars,  his 
kimono  over  his  armor,  sleep  would  not  come  to 
him.  All  about  lay  the  huddled  figures  of  the  sleep- 
ing men  who  had  trusted  and  followed  him.  He  had 
no  scruples  about  bringing  them.  They  had  come 
willingly.  He  told  himself  that  they  would  not 
regret  their  step. 

Had  he  not  been  all  winter  training  them  ?  Were 
there  not  a  thousand,  and  all  fully,  though  rudely, 
armed  ?  Defeat  ?  The  thought  never  came. 

The  Matsuyama  would  rush  upon  them,  belit- 
tling their  cause  and  their  strength.  Well  would 
they  stand  their  ground.  Slowly  the  black  armor 
would  be  beaten  back.  The  news  of  victory  would 
be  spread  by  swift  messengers.  Then  let  the  Black 
Boar  tremble  upon  his  throne! 

The  only  thing  that  troubled  him  was  a  slight 
pain  in  the  back  of  his  head.  He  struggled  against 
it  and  soon  fell  asleep. 

He  was  awakened  by  a  clatter  and  a  shouting  all 
about  him.  The  first  gray  dawn  had  tipped  the  tree- 
tops.  On  all  sides  of  him  there  was  loud  talking 
and  confusion.  The  men  were  picking  up  their 
arms  with  a  wild-eyed  stupidity,  holding  them  this 
way  and  that,  running  into  each  other,  going  hither 
and  thither  like  sheep  in  a  corral. 

"They  come,  O  leader,"  said  the  second  son  of 
the  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees.  "Their  line  can  be 


184    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

plainly  seen  by  yonder  tall  grass  ahead  of  us.  Quite 
near  I  crawled.  There  must  be  two  hundred  with 
swords  and  bows  and  arrows.  From  head  to  toe, 
every  man  is  armored.  Truly  a  fearsome  lot." 

"Do  they  advance?"  Rennoske  asked  in  the  con- 
fused state  of  a  half-awakened  brain. 

"Nay,"  the  young  man  answered.  "They  stand 
a  solid  mass  of  black  and  glistening  steel." 

"Where  are  the  fishers?" 

"To  our  left.  They  cry  for  food,  O  leader.  A 
fear  has  come  upon  them." 

"  Food  —  they  shall  have  plenty  by  noon,  if  they 
will  but  charge  as  I  bid  them  yestere'en." 

The  boy  was  gone  in  the  half-light.  Rennoske 
picked  up  his  sword  and  made  to  move  toward  the 
mountaineers  who  babbled  and  squealed  ahead  of 
him.  Some  one  clutched  at  his  kimono  sleeve. 

"There  was  a  stirring  in  the  woods  behind  us,  O 
leader,"  said  a  man  with  white  face.  "I  have  lived 
here  many  years  and  have  oft  heard  the  snortings. 
There  is  a  dragon  which  spouts  fire  in  the  forest. 
My  grandsire  saw  him  once  and  then  lost  his  reason. 
We  cannot  fight  here.  The  men  from  our  village 
seek  to  go." 

"  Hei  —  children's  tales!"  Rennoske  snapped. 
"Stand  your  ground  and  bid  your  legs  cease  their 
quivering.  Away  with  you  — " 

The  pain  came  in  the  back  of  his  head  again. 


A   BROKEN    SWORD  185 

A  shout  went  up  from  the  peasants  before  him,  fol- 
lowed by  another.  Rennoske  looked  for  the  cause. 
An  arrow  whistled  through  the  air  —  another  —  still 
another  —  till  the  air  was  black  with  them.  The 
peasants  were  drawn  up  in  a  ragged  line  that  wavered 
as  the  arrows  hit.  Here  and  there  a  man  fell. 

He  saw  that  they  were  upon  a  slope  of  ground  that 
fell  away  toward  the  tall  grass  where  the  archers 
were  hidden.  He  saw  in  an  instant  how  senseless  it 
would  be  to  stand  and  be  mowed  down  by  the  hail 
of  arrows.  The  slope  would  give  the  men  impetus 
for  a  charge.  They  might  rush  the  archers  off  their 
feet. 

"Hold  hard  to  your  weapons  —  points  of  spears 
outward,"  he  cried. 

"We  hear,"  came  a  sullen  roar. 

"I  give  the  word  —  forward!  Men  of  Ya- 
moto  — " 

"Little  Warrior!  Little  Warrior!"  shrieked  a 
man,  running  frantically  upon  Rennoske.  "The 
woods  are  full  of  the  soldiers  of  the  Matsuyama  — 
the  woods  behind  us!" 

"How  say  you?"  He  saw  the  peasants  had  gone 
but  a  few  paces.  "Onward,"  he  roared.  "Charge! 
Men  of  Yamoto  — " 

"The  Black  Boar!"  screamed  another  frightened 
peasant.  "The  army  in  the  woods  rides  on  winged 
steeds,  led  by  the  Black  Boar  himself!" 


i86     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"The  Black  Boar!"  repeated  Rennoske  in  the 
voice  of  a  man  in  a  dream.  The  sword  dropped  from 
his  nerveless  fingers. 

And  now  the  true  cause  of  the  hesitancy  of  the 
peasants  in  attacking  the  line  of  steel  was  dis- 
covered in  the  half-light.  They  knew  a  swift-flow- 
ing stream  was  at  their  left  as  they  turned  to 
attack.  Now  they  found  another  one,  a  mere 
creek,  lay  before  them  unseen  until  now,  hidden  by 
the  tall  grass! 

With  a  yell  the  other  body  of  the  Matsuyama 
rushed  from  the  woods  and,  heading  to  the  right, 
made  to  cut  off  the  peasants'  retreat. 

"What  shall  we  do,  O  leader?"  cried  the  son  of 
the  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees.  "See,  we  are  sur- 
rounded. We  cannot  move." 

"The  Black  Boar!"  said  Rennoske  in  the  same  far- 
away voice,  and  he  stared  unseeing  at  the  men  about 
him. 

"He  said  we  should  attack,"  said  one.  "Let  us 
forward." 

"Nay,"  answered  the  other.  "There  were 
orders  for  the  men  of  Yamoto.  We  are  here.  What 
is  to  do?" 

Their  argument  was  interrupted  by  a  horrible  yell 
from  the  men  nearest  the  waiting  body  of  Matsu- 
yama. The  archers  had  increased  their  deadly  hail 
and  the  peasants,  unable  to  move  forward,  pressed 


A    BROKEN    SWORD  187 

onward  by  those  behind,  dropped  like  the  tall  grass 
in  which  they  stood. 

In  an  instant  they  were  in  the  terrible  panic  of  full 
flight.  Some  plunged  headlong  into  the  rushing 
stream,  to  be  picked  off  by  the  archers  as  they 
swam.  Others,  the  madness  of  defeat  boiling  in 
their  veins,  ran  into  the  second  file  of  soldiers,  to  be 
cut  down  by  the  waiting  swords. 

Rennoske  was  in  the  midst  of  a  screaming  vortex 
of  death-stricken  peasants.  The  din  of  their  cries, 
the  clink  of  the  swords,  the  thud  of  falling  bodies  as 
they  fell  drummed  in  his  ears.  They  rushed  upon 
him  and  bore  him  down.  He  fell  heavily  and  lay 
senseless  on  the  ground. 

The  old  blow  of  the  Black  Boar's  sword  had  tri- 
umphed again,  even  as  the  Black  Boar's  army  had 
triumphed  over  the  simple  peasants  who  had  trusted 
and  followed  him. 

Rennoske  came  slowly  to  his  senses.  There  was 
a  sharp  burning  in  his  throat;  he  could  scarcely 
breathe.  Then  he  realized  that  he  lay  under  a  great 
weight.  He  placed  both  hands  upon  the  ground  and 
lifted  himself  slowly  to  his  knees. 

Something  rolled  off  his  back  and  fell  with  a 
thud  upon  the  ground  beside  him.  He  looked 
at  it  in  the  dim  light.  It  was  the  body  of  a 
dead  man.  There  were  others  beside  him.  He 


i88     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

must  have  lain  under  this  heap  of  the  dead  and  so 
escaped. 

He  counted  the  bodies.  There  were  seven  of 
them.  He  looked  at  the  faces.  They  were  the  sons 
of  the  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees. 

Wearily  he  walked  toward  the  forest,  sword  in 
hand.  He  sat  down  under  a  great  oak,  far  from  that 
field  of  disaster.  The  sinking  sun  lighted  up  a  copse 
of  white  birches  before  him.  It  was  a  good  time, 
he  thought.  There  was  no  other  way  open  to  him 
but  death. 

He  took  off  the  shirt  of  mail  and  bared  his  bosom. 
He  would  join  the  spirits  he  had  sent  too  soon  from 
life,  join  them  and  tell  them  it  had  not  been  his 
fault.  Perhaps  in  the  other  life  he  would  know 
what  caused  his  hateful  malady.  They  might  for- 
give him  if  he  explained.  The  point  of  the  sword 
was  already  against  his  flesh,  the  hilt  in  both  his 
hands. 

What  was  this  that  rang  so  clearly  in  his  brain  ?  — 
a  voice!  A  voice  he  had  heard  in  childhood  — 
an  old  voice,  soft  and  low.  What  did  it  say? 

It  bade  him  pause  —  "Pause,  Little  Warrior." 
It  whispered  that  he  would  yet  conquer  the  hated 
Matsuyama.  "Have  courage,  O  Little  Warrior!" 
He  took  the  sword  and  broke  it  across  his  knee. 


Chapter 
A  Listening  Ear  Behind  a  Screen 

THE  face  of  the  Baron  Matsuyama  was 
livid.  He  dug  his  nails  into  his  palms 
while  he  listened  to  the  story  of  the  armored 
man  before  him.  The  man  ceased  speaking,  and  the 
pent-up  torrent  of  his  high  excellency's  feelings 
burst  forth. 

"Incompetent  swine,  why  didst  thou  allow  him  to 
escape  ?  He  was  but  the  one  armored  man  in  a  mob 
of  a  thousand.  'We  could  not  find  him,  high  excel- 
lency,' thou  whinest  now.  Wherefore  not?  Could 
he  fly  into  the  air  like  a  bird?  Could  he  burrow 
into  the  ground  like  a  mole?  Could  not  find  him, 
indeed !  Was  he  slain  ?  " 

"We  found  no  such  body,  high  excellency." 

"Where  didst  thou  look?" 

"Everywhere  in  the  tall  grass,  in  every  nook  and 
corner  of  the  forest.  Fifty  of  my  men  spent  the 
day  till  long  past  noon  in  the  search.  There  was 
nothing  but  heaps  of  the  dead  upon  all  the  ground 
and  the  weapons  flung  away  of  those  that  fled." 

"  So  then  —  it  is  not  my  loss.     This  fellow  will 


190    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

rise  again,  mark  my  words,  and  thou  and  thy  troop 
will  have  all  over  again  the  business  of  slaying  his 
host  of  rebellious  dogs.  How  many  of  ye  fell?" 

"But  twenty,  high  excellency.  The  peasants 
were  routed  with  frightful  loss.  Less  than  half  of 
them  escaped,  and  few  of  these  with  whole  skins. 
Our  arrows  fell  upon  them  like  hail.  They  scattered 
to  the  four  winds  while  we  pursued  them,  cutting 
down  the  laggards  with  our  swords." 

"Aye,  and  then  thou  spoilst  the  business  by  letting 
their  leader  slip  away.  I  had  thought  thou  wert  a 
better  leader  than  that,  O  Mori." 

The  gaunt  knight  hung  his  head  at  the  reproof. 
Then  to  justify  himself  he  said: 

"His  Sublime  Majesty  the  Black  Boar  was  there. 
He,  too,  joined  the  search." 

"Where  is  the  prince?" 

"Yonder  in  his  resting  palace  you  will  find  him." 

Without  deigning  another  word,  the  Baron  Mat- 
suyama  stalked  off  along  the  gravel  path  past  the 
palace  that  held  the  throne-room,  crossed  a  green 
lawn  ablaze  with  beds  of  hyacinths,  and  made  for  a 
smaller  red-roofed  building.  The  paper  walls  were 
up  —  with  the  exception  of  a  space  for  the  door. 
The  baron  passed  the  sentry  and  entered. 

The  Black  Boar  stood  in  the  center  of  the  room. 
Two  Koreans  were  helping  him  on  with  a  juban  of 
raw  silk  and  a  soft  kimono.  The  room  smelled  of 


A    LISTENING    EAR  191 

spiced  perfumes  and  oils.  On  the  heavy  matting 
were  scattered  bearskins  and  leopards'  hides;  a  spray 
of  cherry  blossoms  stood  in  a  tall  vase;  a  s  amis  en 
leaned  against  it. 

The  baron's  son  lowered  his  black  brows  at  sight 
of  his  father.  He  drew  down  the  corner  of  his 
mouth  and  grunted.  His  high  excellency  stood  in 
the  doorway,  watching  the  servants  at  their  task. 

He  waited  for  them  to  leave,  waited  for  his  son  to 
flop  heavily  upon  a  bearskin  and  stretch  out  his 
short  muscular  limbs.  Then  his  high  excellency 
began  in  an  icy  voice: 

"There  has  been  fool's  work  done  this  day. 
Mori  tells  me  you  were  in  the  search  for  this  rebel- 
lious leader.  What  kind  of  craft  was  this  to  let  him 
escape?  Do  you  not  know  he  will  be  upon  us  again? 
I  know  not  who  he  is,  but  I  have  my  fears.  A  fine 
bit  of  bungling  have  you  done." 

The  Black  Boar  snarled  and  spat. 

"It  is  easy  for  you  to  sit  home  here  and  tell  me 
what  I  shall  do.  All  night  long  must  I  march  to 
meet  these  dogs,  then  hide  me  in  a  foul  woods  till 
dawn.  Did  not  we,  three  hundred  to  a  thousand,  hew 
these  swine  to  bits  ?  We  did  not  do  so,  and  so,  and 
so,  you  say.  Go  next  time  yourself  and  do  better!" 

"Have  a  care,  boy,"  the  baron  growled. 

"Inari  be  cursed,  nay!"  the  Black  Boar  answered, 
thumping  his  fist  upon  the  floor.  "You  would  rule 


192     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

the  kingdom  —  rule  then  and  be  silent.  Wallow  in 
the  mud  of  it!  I  shall  do  no  more.  Let  it  rot  and 
old  men's  advice  with  it!" 

The  youth  snarled  and  spat  again. 

" Hei,  without  there,"  he  shouted.  "Bring  me 
a  bowl  of  sakkee!  Have  it  hot  and  of  goodly 
measure." 

Then  he  fell  to  picking  at  the  rug  on  which  he  lay, 
mumbling  and  cursing  to  himself. 

The  baron  stretched  himself  to  his  full  height.  He 
was  boiling  inside;  his  fingers  itched  for  a  grip  at 
his  insolent  son's  throat.  There  might  have  been  a 
change  in  the  dynasty  in  that  moment  of  rage  if 
some  one  had  not  plucked  his  high  excellency's 
kimono  sleeve  and  whispered,  "I  bear  great  news." 

"What  is  it?"  the  baron  snapped,  looking  down 
at  the  cringing  servant. 

"The  dwarf — "  the  man  whispered.  "He 
speaks." 

Like  lightning  was  the  change  in  the  baron's 
demeanor.  He  caught  the  man  by  the  shoulder 
and  hustled  him  out  into  the  sunlight. 

"When  was  this?"  he  hissed. 

"But  an  hour  ago,  high  excellency.  He  knew 
me  —  and  all  about  —  him." 

"Quickly  —  fetch  my  litter  and  the  swiftest 
bearers  —  isoge!" 

A  tea-tasting  party  of  silk-clad  nobles  and  ladies 


A    LISTENING    EAR  193 

was  disturbed  by  the  patter  of  feet.  They  looked 
to  see  the  Baron  Matsuyama  waving  his  arms  and 
bidding  his  four  litter  bearers  to  go  faster.  The 
palanquin  swayed  as  it  plunged  along  the  lawn, 
through  the  flower  beds  and  between  the  camphor 
trees.  They  heard  the  cry  of  the  carriers  die  away 
in  the  forest  beyond. 

"His  high  excellency  is  in  a  hurry,"  laughed  a 
languid  youth.  Two  dainty  ladies  tittered. 

"Some  one  hath  found  hidden  gold,"  said  one. 

"Or  hidden  charms,"  the  youth  went  on  with 
a  guffaw.  "Madame  Golden  Glow  grows  older. 
There  are  many  pretty  ladies  about!" 

The  group  all  laughed  and  returned  to  their  game. 

Certainly  His  High  Excellency  the  Baron  Matsu- 
yama was  in  a  hurry.  He  sprang  from  the  litter 
the  instant  it  touched  the  ground  and  loped  up  the 
beaten  path  to  his  palace.  Of  solid  logs  was  it 
built,  for  the  baron  eschewed  shoji  walls.  They 
could  be  too  easily  pierced  by  knives  or  arrows. 
The  baron  flung  open  the  door  and  sprang  inside. 

The  room  was  oblong,  two-score  and  more  feet 
long.  In  one  corner  was  built  an  alcove  where  a 
green  lamp  shone  on  a  five-armed  goddess.  A  heavy 
gong  hung  from  the  rafters  before  her.  The  walls 
were  covered  by  many  suits  of  armor,  swords,  spears, 
and  other  articles  of  warfare.  Directly  opposite  the 
alcove  stood  a  magnificent  silk  screen. 


i94     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

On  a  pile  of  skins  that  lay  over  the  shining,  black- 
lacquered  floor  sat  the  Ugly  Dwarf,  leering,  yellow- 
fanged.  The  bandages  that  had  swathed  his  head 
for  so  many  months  were  in  his  hairy  hand;  he 
tossed  them  in  the  air,  caught  at  them. 

"Thou  knowest  who  I  am?"  snapped  the  baron, 
falling  quickly  upon  his  knees  before  the  deformed 
figure. 

"Aye,"  the  dwarf  replied.  "You  are  the  Baron 
Matsuyama  —  I  know  you  —  I  know  Madame 
Kin-no- Yaku  —  I  know  them  all.  I  could  have  told 
you  that  many  moons  ago;  but  it  was  my  broken 
jaw  and  not  my  mind  that  would  not  let  me  speak 
before. 

"See,  high  excellency  —  I  talk  quite  well  again, 
do  I  not?"  The  crazy-looking  creature  worked  his 
jaw  up  and  down  like  a  hinge. 

"Thou  rememberest  all?"  the  baron  spoke  quickly. 
"The  place  —  the  house  —  the  country?  Thou  wert 
brought  here  by  huntsmen  who  found  thy  apish 
figure  in  the  forest.  'I  have  found  Rennoske,' 
thou  howlest.  Then  down  upon  thy  face  thou 
fallest,  and  here  thou  hast  lain  speechless  for  a  year 
or  more  —  thy  ugly  jaw  bound  in  clay." 

"Aye,  aye,"  the  dwarf  squealed.  "All  of  that  I 
know  —  hei!  but  those  were  days  of  terror.  Could 
I  but  see  again  the  hand  that  hurled  the  stone  — 
curse  him  —  would  I  — " 


A    LISTENING    EAR  195 

"Enough  of  that!"  interrupted  the  baron  with  a 
snarl.  "Where  is  the  Prince  Rennoske?" 

"The  house  stands  upon  a  plateau,"  the  dwarf 
chuckled,  "a  mile  or  less  from  Takenaka,  upon  the 
side  of  the  road.  One  cannot  mistake  it,  for  before 
the  shoji  are  three  round  wells  of  stone." 

Then  the  dwarf  went  into  further  details,  and 
the  upshot  of  the  matter  was  that  his  high  excel- 
lency went  quickly  back  in  his  litter  to  the  palace 
grounds.  He  gathered  together  twenty  of  his  best 
soldiers  and  bade  them  go  with  all  speed  to  the  house 
of  one  Miyoshi  the  Farmer  and  bring  back  the  head 
of  a  youth  of  twenty-one  whom,  they  would  find 
there. 

The  baron  went  to  tell  his  son;  but  His  Supreme 
Highness  the  Daimyo  Kuroki  Obuto  lay  in  a  drunken 
stupor,  so  the  father  was  obliged  to  keep  his  news 
till  the  son  should  wake. 

His  high  excellency  had  not  long  been  gone  from 
the  dwarf  ere  a  face  appeared  from  behind  the  silken 
screen.  It  was  the  face  of  a  woman,  old  and  ugly; 
though  the  cheeks  were  pink  like  a  baby's,  the  eyes 
bright  like  those  of  a  girl  of  twenty,  the  hair  black 
and  glossy. 

"I  have  jewels  and  gold,"  she  whined,  kneeling 
beside  the  dwarf.  "I  have  golden  chains  and  silver 
bracelets.  I  have  sweet  maidens  at  my  call.  All  — 
all  will  I  give  to  thee,  if  thou  wilt  do  as  I  ask!" 


196    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

" Hei,  Madame  Golden  Glow,"  answered  the 
dwarf.  "Brave  words.  I  have  ever  been  at  your 
command,  slave  and  servant,  to  receive  in  reward 
but  a  cuff  and  a  blow.  Rise  up  —  it  is  not  meet 
that  you  should  kneel  to  me.  What  has  come  over 
the  world  that  things  are  upside  down?" 

The  woman  waved  his  words  aside  with  impa- 
tience. She  went  on  again  with  her  whine. 

"Listen,  ugly  one.  I  heard  from  behind  that 
screen  all  that  thou  saidst  to  his  high  excellency.  I 
would  go  myself;  but  the  kingdom  I  know  not — nor 
the  way  to  Takenaka.  Show  me  the  way  and  all 
that  I  have  promised  and  more  shall  be  thine. 

"Nay,  look  not  so  upon  me.  What  shall  the  baron 
give  thee  —  and  I,  returning  with  the  prince's  head, 
will  again  find  favor  in  his  eyes.  Rich  shalt  thou 
be  and  dwell  the  rest  of  thy  life  in  peace  and  com- 
fort. Do  as  I  ask.  All  my  life  long  shall  I  bless 
thee.  Do  as  I  ask!" 

The  dwarf  grinned  up  at  her. 

"You  cannot  go  like  this,  madame,"  he  said.  "All 
the  country  would  know  and  betray  you." 

"That  I  can  arrange.  This  washes  clean  from  my 
face.  I  will  plan  all.  I  will  arrange  all.  Wilt  thou 
do  it?"  she  pleaded. 

"What  wilt  thou  give  now?" 

"  See  —  this  chain  —  of  purest  gold  —  these  rings 
upon  my  fingers.  Wilt  thou  show  me  the  way?" 


A    LISTENING    EAR  197 

"Aye." 

The  dwarf  took  the  jewels,  hobbled  outside,  and 
buried  them  in  a  hole  beneath  a  stone.  While  he 
was  gone,  Madame  Golden  Glow  washed  the  paint 
clean  from  her  face. 


Chapter  XFI  ,'" 

A  Kimono  of  White  on  a  Maiden 

ON  the  morning  of  the  dwarfs  awakening 
Rennoske  was  half-way  between  the  bloody 
field  of  Hachinohe  and  the  fishing  village 
of  Boruku. 

He  had  spent  the  night  in  one  of  the  lonely  sea- 
shore huts  with  a  boy  of  sixteen  and  his  mother. 
He  had  lain  down  on  the  mud  floor  and  slept  without 
a  tremor  in  a  house  he  had  bereft  of  a  father  and 
two  sons. 

One  might  think  that  the  mother,  seeing  there 
before  her  the  cause  of  her  widowhood,  helpless  in 
sleep,  might  revenge  herself  upon  him.  No  such 
thought  came  to  the  woman.  Instead,  Rennoske 
was  given  the  best  of  everything  in  the  house,  while 
the  boys  kept  watch  at  the  door. 

She  remembered  through  her  grief  the  words  of 
her  lord  that  "the  Little  Warrior  was  great  in  the 
land  —  a  helper  of  the  afflicted."  She  respected 
his  opinions  and  carried  out  the  wishes  she  knew 
he  would  have  had  concerning  her  unbidden  guest. 


A    KIMONO    OF    WHITE  199 

So  in  the  morning  she  heated  a  tub  of  sea-water 
and  Rennoske  bathed.  She  sent  him  on  his  way  with 
a  bag  of  dried  fish  and  some  seaweed,  and  asked  his 
blessing. 

Near  Boruku  he  was  forced  to  take  another  bath, 
this  time  in  cold  water,  kimono  and  all,  for  he  saw 
a  troop  of  horsemen  trotting  up  the  sands,  returning 
from  the  village.  What  they  saw  was  a  black  speck 
some  two  hundred  yards  from  the  shore,  thought  it 
a  bird  or  a  rock,  and  passed  on.  Being  mounted  and 
armored,  the  sea  held  no  charms  for  them  anyway. 

Rennoske  took  no  chances,  however.  By  a  half- 
mile  swim  he  came  to  Boruku  by  way  of  the  sandspit 
where  he  had  first  discovered  his  strange  skill  as 
a  swordsman.  There  was  a  junk  there,  but  it  was 
not  the  Maya  Maru,  so  he  gave  it  no  thought. 

But  the  fishermen,  who  had  come  down  to  the 
spit  to  see  the  junk,  were  filled  with  consternation 
when  they  saw  their  late  leader  rise  godlike  out  of 
the  sea,  dripping  and  smiling. 

The  fishermen  of  Boruku  had  heard  of  the  Little 
Warrior  before  they  had  seen  him.  Tales  of  him 
had  come  through  other  mouths,  the  mouths  of 
ignorant  men  like  themselves.  It  was  not  strange, 
therefore,  that  these  tales  should  be  highly  em- 
bellished as  they  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

The  Little  Warrior  could  slay  twenty  men  with 
one  stroke  of  his  sword;  he  could  swim  the  sea  and 


200    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

defeat  the  porpoise  in  a  race;  he  spoke  the  words  of 
the  gods  —  in  short,  he  was  a  demigod  himself. 

As  for  his  malady  —  the  peasants  had  their  own 
version  and  explanation  for  that.  He  talked  with 
the  dead  and  found  out  from  them  what  to  do  in  the 
future.  In  the  minds  of  the  ignorant  there  is  no 
hero  like  the  hero  of  one's  own  making. 

"Men  of  Boruku,"  he  said,  calmly  facing  them, 
"defeat  hath  come  upon  us.  There  are  missing 
faces  among  you.  Move  warily,  my  brothers,  the 
Black  Boar  will  rule  now  with  a  rod  of  iron.  Twice 
as  hard  will  your  way  be.  But  fear  not.  I  go  where 
all  men  may  find  me. 

"The  flower  but  sprouted  and  was  withered  by 
the  blast  of  winter.  The  root  is  there  in  the  ground 
and  will  grow  again  and  bloom  in  victory.  We  shall 
rise  and  overthrow  the  tyrant.  When  the  call  comes, 
ye  will  find  me  ready  to  lead  or  to  serve." 

Forgotten  was  the  newly  arrived  junk,  forgotten 
their  unburied  dead.  They  crowded  about  him. 
One  took  the  wet  kimono  from  Rennoske's  shoulders, 
replacing  it  with  his  own.  The  Little  Warrior  was 
soon  on  his  way  along  the  white  road,  the  shouts  of 
"Long  life!"  ringing  behind  him. 

Victory  seemed  nearer  now.  He  had  only  one 
regret  on  his  way  home.  He  despised  himself  for 
having  been  weak  enough  to  think  of  taking  his  own 
life.  He  would  return  home  and  wait.  If  he  were 


A    KIMONO    OF    WHITE  201 

not  welcome  there  —  well,  let  that  take  care  of  itself 
when  it  came.  ^ 

In  the  boglands  through  the  woods  he  found  a 
man  sitting  upon  the  ground  with  an  arrow  in  his 
foot,  unable  to  walk.  He  took  out  the  festering 
point,  bathed  the  wound  in  the  stream,  and  helped 
the  man  to  Takenaka. 

There  were  greetings  there  from  those  that  es- 
caped. He  spoke  briefly  and  sincerely,  then  walked 
to  a  shoji  in  a  shaded  dell  near  by  where  —  alone 
now  —  dwelt  the  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees. 

The  old  man  was  seated  on  the  ground  under  a 
maple.  Rennoske  bowed,  the  man  did  likewise, 
with  deep  reverence.  They  looked  at  each  other  in 
silence.  There  was  no  resentment  in  the  man's  clear 
eyes,  though  they  must  have  read  the  news  in 
Rennoske's. 

"They  told  me  naught,  the  sixty  who  returned, 
many  with  wounds,"  he  said  slowly.  "They  are  all 
slain,  then,  O  leader?" 

"All  slain,"  answered  Rennoske.  "It  seems  hard 
that  I  should  return  and  tell  this,  but  it  comes  to  me 
that  the  Matsuyama  will  yet  fall  at  my  hands." 

"Surely  they  will,"  the  man  resumed,  a  ring  in  his 
voice.  "What  was  the  need  of  your  death?  Your 
cause  was  just,  your  purpose  right.  The  gods,  no 
doubt,  have  spared  you  for  another  trial  —  which,  I 
pray,  will  be  soon.  Did  they  die  well?" 


202     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Aye,  reverend  sir.  It  is  to  them  I  owe  my 
life." 

"That  is  well  said  and  leaves  me  content.  Eight 
sons  my  wife  bore  me.  All  of  them  the  Matsuyama 
have  slain  because  they  were  strong  and  resisted. 
When  you  come  again,  having  nothing  else,  I  shall 
give  myself.  Saianara,  O  leader!" 

"With  hearts  as  stanch  as  thine,  the  Matsuyama 
will  not  long  hold  us  in  subjection.  Saianara, 
reverend  sir!" 

Rennoske  bowed  again  and  turned  upon  his 
heel.  As  he  passed  along  the  road  he  saw  many 
signs  of  the  havoc  his  warlike  spirit  had  wrought. 
Wives  were  in  the  fields  without  their  husbands. 
Oxen  stood  idle  at  the  wagon  sheds.  Yet  many  must 
have  escaped. 

He  saw  the  peasants  on  the  steep  slope  of  the 
brown  and  green  hills.  There  would  be  always  a 
wave  of  the  hand,  a  bow  to  the  earth.  The  simple 
devotion  touched  him  and  made  him  more  than  ever 
desire  to  lead  them  to  the  victory  he  felt  sure  must 
one  day  be  his. 

And  now  he  was  in  sight  of  the  zigzag  path  that 
led  to  the  only  home  he  had  ever  known.  In  the 
red  light  of  the  sunset  he  could  plainly  see  the  house. 
What  was  there  so  unfamiliar  about  it?  Why  were 
there  so  many  moving  figures  by  the  stone  wells? 

So  weary  was  his  spirit  and  so  heavy  his  steps  that 


A    KIMONO    OF    WHITE  203 

it  was  nightfall  before  he  reached  the  path,  and 
toiling  up,  sent  the  pebbles  clattering  down.  As  he 
reached  the  summit  where  the  by-path  branched  off, 
he  saw  that  the  shoji  walls  of  paper  were  already  in 
their  grooves,  and  there  was  much  light  within. 
There  were  moving  figures  on  the  translucent  screen. 
He  walked  slower  still. 

What  was  the  unfamiliar  thing,  and  where?  He 
looked  all  about  him,  at  the  cherry  trees,  the  garden, 
the  one,  two  —  there  it  was,  by  the  third  stone  well. 
He  could  distinguish  it  plainly,  although  the  light 
was  faint,  a  great  heaping  of  branches  and  twigs. 
He  knew  what  it  was  —  the  funeral  bonfire.  Who 
was  dead  —  Kiku? 

A  laugh  from  within  the  house  made  him  creep 
closer  softly.  There  could  be  no  death  within,  then. 
He  stood  outside  the  paper  and  listened,  feeling  like 
a  son  coming  home  to  rob  his  father.  Then  he 
heard  a  voice  that  rooted  him  to  the  spot. 

"We  were  far  out  at  sea  when  we  discovered  the 
leak,  O  my  father,  and  it  was  then  too  late.  The 
ship  was  full  of  water  and  sinking  fast.  We  made 
ourselves  a  raft  and  launched  it  with  all  the  pro- 
visions we  could  find. 

"On  this  craft  we  drifted  many  days.  At  last 
we  were  picked  up  by  a  junk.  God  of  the  sea,  our 
joy  was  short-lived!  Our  rescuers  were  our  cap- 
tors, pirates  of  China,  O  my  father.  They  took 


204    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

us  to  their  own  land,  and  there  we  were  sold  into 
slavery. 

"For  two  years  have  I,  once  captain  of  mine  own 
ship,  been  a  sandal-fastening,  old  woman's  litter- 
bearing  dog,  in  the  palace  of  a  mandarin.  But  I 
swim  well,  O  my  father;  they  were  fools  to  give  me 
a  pole  upon  the  riverboats  when  there  were  so  many 
sea-going  craft  about  —  ho!  ho!" 

Rennoske  strode  boldly  to  the  door  and  slid  it 
back  with  a  rattle.  He  stepped  into  the  house  and 
stood  there  with  folded  arms  across  his  chest  looking 
straight  into  the  eyes  of  the  man  in  blue  who  squatted 
on  the  floor. 

"Thou  hast  long  ago  invited  me  to  thy  wedding," 
he  said.  "I  am  here,  Osaki!" 

The  seal-hunter,  thinner,  a  few  more  lines  about 
his  eyes,  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"The  unknown  Samurai,"  he  whispered;  but 
none  heard  him,  for  the  crash  of  a  falling  screen 
made  every  head  turn.  Miyoshi  and  Osaki  had  a 
flash  of  something  white,  and  Rennoske  found  the 
yielding  body  of  Kiku  folded  in  his  arms. 

"Thou  art  safe,  Little  Warrior,"  he  heard  her  sob 
on  his  breast.  "Thou  art  safe!  I  thought  they  had 
slain  thee.  The  gods  be  thanked  —  thou  art  safe!" 

In  the  ecstasy  of  that  moment  Rennoske  forgot 
everything,  forgot  that  the  eyes  of  Kiku's  father 
and  the  eyes  of  Kiku's  betrothed  were  upon  him. 


A    KIMONO    OF    WHITE  205 

"I  am  safe,  gentlest  flower,"  he  whispered.  "All 
horror,  all  pain,  all  misery  is  forgotten  when  thou 
clingest  thus  to  me.  Stay  thus  ever,  gentlest 
flower." 

Kiku  sobbed  and  clung. 

"How  now,  swearer  of  oaths!"  boomed  Osaki. 
"How  now,  raiser  of  rice?  Is  this  how  thou 
keepest  a  promise?  Because  I  am  gone  two 
years  instead  of  one,  because  I  bring  no  pelts  of  the 
seal,  so  quickly  dost  thou  forget  who  is  the  promised 
husband  of  thy  daughter?  Aye,  that  thou  canst 
gaze  with  such  doddering  eyes  upon  that!" 

And  Osaki  pointed  a  scornful  finger  at  the  two, 
who,  oblivious  to  their  surroundings,  were  still  locked 
in  each  other's  arms. 

"Thou  art  wrong,  Osaki,"  cringed  Miyoshi. 
"Thou  art  wrong.  Does  not  my  daughter  even  now 
wear  the  white  robe  of  mourning  as  a  sign  she  is 
dead  to  us?  Does  not  the  bonfire  of  purification 
stand  ready  to  be  lighted  outside  my  house,  even  as 
if  she  were  borne  from  us  a  corpse  ? 

"Do  not  thy  father,  and  thy  mother,  and 
thy  guests  even  now  heat  the  sakkee  for  the  nine 
times  nine  times  at  thy  house?  I  have  broken 
no  oath,  Osaki.  I  swear  it  by  the  spirits  of  mine 
ancestors!" 

"Then  yon  fatherless,  unknown  dog  has  played 
me  false!"  snarled  the  seal-hunter.  "He  has  stolen 


206     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

the  girl's  heart  behind  my  back.  Traitor  to  me,  to 
thee,  and  to  the  people  that  he  is!" 

Rennoske  tore  Kiku's  arms  from  him  and  with  a 
single  catlike  step  stood  facing  Osaki. 

"Take  back  those  words,  base-born  sailor,"  he 
said  in  a  low,  threatening  voice.  "Take  them  back 
lest  I  thrust  them  down  thy  sakkee-dnnking  throat." 

"Not  a  word,"  answered  Osaki.  "Not  if  you  were 
the  son  of  every  demon  that  rides  the  typhoon.  A 
traitor  you  are.  I  have  said  it!" 

Like  two  brown  bears  they  clinched.  Kiku 
screamed;  Miyoshi  stood  speechless,  while  his  wife 
clung  about  his  knees. 

Round  the  room  the  two  men  wrestled.  The 
vase  in  the  alcove  fell  clattering  to  the  floor,  the 
house  shook  as  they  swung  each  other  about, 
straw-shod  feet  scraping,  kimono  sleeves  flying. 
First,  the  pale,  oval  face  was  thrust  backward,  then 
the  brown. 

Then  slowly,  slowly,  the  blue-clad  figure  bent 
backward  from  the  waist.  With  a  mighty  twist  it 
was  sent  reeling  to  the  floor.  Rennoske  sprang  at 
the  sailor's  throat  and  thrust  his  knee  upon  the 
heaving  chest.  Still  as  a  statue  he  held  him  there, 
his  own  breath  coming  fast. 

The  seal-hunter  was  helpless,  for  he  had  fallen 
with  his  arms  behind  him,  and  they  were  held  back 
by  his  own  weight.  Kiku  was  trembling  violently; 


A    KIMONO    OF    WHITE  207 

Miyoshi  and  his  wife  stood  speechless  in  open-eyed 
terror. 

"Hunter  of  the  Seal,"  came  Rennoske's  voice, 
steel-cold,  "the  weakling  is  sometimes  strong,  the 
imbecile  sometimes  brother  to  the  tiger.  There  is 
nought  between  thee  and  death  but  my  five  fingers. 
Thou  art  on  a  troubled  sea  in  a  boat  of  rice 
paper,  Osaki  —  so  ?  Yet  it  is  not  thus  I  would  win, 
O  Kiku  San,  daughter  of  my  father.  For  her  honor, 
then,  I  spare  thee.  Rise,  Hunter  of  the  Seal!" 

And  Rennoske  took  his  hands  from  the  other's 
throat  and  his  knee  from  his  chest  and  rose  himself 
with  a  smile. 

It  was  some  moments  before  the  sailor  could 
speak.  He  sat  up,  rolling  his  head  from  side  to  side. 
Then  he  got  to  his  feet  and  faced  Rennoske. 

"Should  we  ever  again  come  face  to  face,  O 
unknown  man,"  he  said  with  smooth  politeness; 
"should  it  so  happen  that  my  fingers  were  about 
your  throat,  I  fear  I  should  be  honorably  obliged  to 
press  hard  —  aye,  to  slay  you." 

Rennoske  bowed  low. 

"I  accept  your  challenge,  O  Osaki,"  he  answered 
with  equal  suavity.  "Yet,  perhaps  I  will  not  inter- 
rupt an  honorable  ceremony  of  marriage.  The  nine 
cups  of  wine  are  ready  at  your  house.  The  guests 
are  assembled,  the  samisen  plays.  My  father  awaits 
the  lighting  of  the  funeral  fire.  The  bride  wears  the 


208    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

white  of  mourning.  I  stand  not  in  your  way.  Why 
do  you  take  her  not?" 

The  veins  in  Osaki's  neck  swelled  under  the  taunt- 
ing words,  yet  he  controlled  himself  and  answered, 
smiling  insolently: 

"To  take  her  now  would  be  to  take  her  as  your 
gift,  and  gifts  are  not  welcome  by  me  at  your  hands. 
The  daughter  of  Miyoshi  may  take  off  her  kimono 
of  white.  There  shall  be  no  marriage  between  her 
and  me  until  the  stain  is  wiped  from  my  name!" 

"Gods  of  my  ancestors!"  cried  Miyoshi.  "Dost 
thou  mean  I  am  dishonored?  Then  shall  death  be 
my  daughter's  bridegroom." 

"Dishonored  you  are  not,  O  my  father!"  answered 
Rennoske  proudly.  "That  I  swear." 

"Then  what  means  Osaki?"  questioned  the 
farmer.  "Why  does  he  refuse  my  daughter's  hand? 
What  is  thy  word,  pauper  and  foundling?" 

"Softly,"  said  Osaki  to  the  elder  man.  "The 
unknown  man  is  mine  enemy;  I  would  slay  him  if  I 
could.  Yet  his  word  is  sacred,  and  thou  must  be- 
lieve, O  Farmer  of  the  Three  Wells.  To  thee,  to 
thy  wife,  to  thee,  unknown  sir,  and  to  thee,  O  Kiku 
San,  until  I  return  again,  Saianara!" 

And  Osaki,  bowing  to  all,  took  his  broken  fan  from 
his  sash,  snapped  it  open,  and  walked  slowly  through 
the  open  door. 

All  thoughts  of  the  encounter  were  wiped  clear 


A    KIMONO    OF    WHITE  209 

from  Rennoske's  brain.  Why  should  his  foster- 
father  believe  him?  Did  Osaki  know  who  he  was, 
or  merely  that  his  word  should  be  taken? 

He  remembered  how  the  sailor  had  changed  that 
day  upon  the  Maya  Maru  when  he  had  mentioned 
the  two  swords.  Was  he,  then,  really  a  Samurai? 
If  so,  whose  son  was  he  and  how  came  he  here?  He 
stood  wrapped  in  thoughts  that  baffled. 

When  at  length  he  came  to  himself  the  inside  walls 
were  in  place,  Kiku  and  her  mother  were  behind 
them.  He  was  alone  with  his  foster-father. 

"It  is  best  I  go,  O  my  father.  I  fear  I  am  no 
longer  welcome  under  your  roof." 

"Welcome  thou  art,"  answered  Miyoshi. 

After  all,  Osaki  was  gone,  the  boy  was  strong  and 
willing,  and  doubtless  the  warlike  ideas  were  out  of 
his  head  now. 

"There  is  no  quarrel  between  us.  I  have  taken  thy 
word.  Moreover,  I  swore  to  keep  thee  until  thou 
wert  sent  for.  My  oath  is  as  sacred  as  thine." 

"I  thank  thee,  0  my  father,"  Rennoske  answered. 
"This  is  the  only  home  I  know.  Those  under  its 
roof  do  I  love.  You  are  my  father  —  I  will  obey." 

With  his  brain  reeling  amid  thoughts  of  swords, 
rebellion,  Samurai,  conjectures  as  to  his  parentage, 
Osaki's  words,  and  the  soft  whisperings  of  Kiku, 
Rennoske  slept  again  under  the  roof  of  the  Farmer 
of  the  Three  Wells. 


Chapter  XFII 

Two  Rice  Plants  "Torn  up  by 
the  Roots 

RENNOSKE  was  awakened  by  the  usual 
banging  and  scraping  that  accompanied 
the  taking  down  of  the  outside  shoji  walls. 
He  sprang  up,  went  outside  for  his  morning  bath, 
and  donned  his  gray  cotton  shuban  and  the  hara- 
gakke,  the  short,  coarse  coat,  the  badge  of  peasantry. 

He  went  about  his  old  work  of  chopping  down  a 
tree  with  the  same  gaiety  he  had  always  had  at  the 
task.  Yet,  while  he  was  about  it,  his  brain  was 
busy.  A  gigantic  task  lay  before  him. 

He  had  worked  in  secret  for  a  year  to  overthrow  a 
dynasty.  Like  a  pricked  bubble,  his  plan  was  less 
than  nothing.  Yet,  by  Inari,  the  dynasty  must  be 
overthrown ! 

How  was  it  to  be  done?  He  had  less  in  the  way 
of  arms  and  men  than  before  and  no  one  to  help 
him.  The  Matsuyama,  having  overcome  one  re- 
bellion, would  be  on  the  lookout  and,  naturally, 
crush  the  beginning  of  another;  aye,  they  might 


TORN    UP    BY    THE    ROOTS       211 

even  put  a  price  upon  his  head  and  hunt  him 
throughout  the  land.  All  this  he  granted. 

But  there  was  a  paramount  thought.  The  people 
were  crushed  —  the  people  looked  to  him  to  lead 
them.  Lead  them  he  must,  though  his  head  roll 
for  it. 

How  was  it  to  be  done  —  he  knew  not.  But  it 
would  be  done  and  he  would  do  it,  the  Baron  Matsu- 
yama,  the  Black  Boar,  and  all  the  armored  hire- 
lings against  him  notwithstanding.  So  much  for 
the  prince  in  him. 

The  birds  sang,  "Thou  shalt  do  it";  the  mountain 
torrent  roared,  "Thou  shalt  do  it";  the  tree  crashed 
to  the  ground  under  a  mighty  blow  from  his  ax, 
shrieking  as  it  fell,  "Thou  shalt  do  it!" 

He  dragged,it  down  the  slope,  a  far  different  young 
man  from  the  one  who  sat  in  the  forest  these  three 
days  back  with  a  sword  at  his  own  breast. 

They  sat  down  to  a  meager  breakfast  —  his  foster- 
father  and  mother,  Kiku,  and  himself.  Everything 
was  the  same  as  it  was  before  the  rebellion  or  the 
coming  of  Osaki. 

To  say  Miyoshi  was  pleased  with  the  outcome  of 
affairs  would  be  putting  it  falsely.  He  had  still  a 
daughter  in  the  house  who  should  by  now  have  been 
a  wife.  He  had  his  foster-son  back  again,  though 
different  —  a  leader  of  an  army,  the  conqueror  of 
Osaki.  There  could  be  no  more  talk  of  cuffing 


212     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

about  the  ears.  The  farmer,  who  had  once  scorned 
and  laughed  at  the  boy,  now  feared  him  with  a 
superstitious  fear.  Like  the  rest  of  his  clan,  how- 
ever, Miyoshi  was  a  fatalist.  The  lad  was  here  — 
the  best  should  be  made  of  it  —  hei!  the  gods  abused 
him! 

"It  is  time  for  the  transplanting,  son,"  he  said 
after  the  meal.  "Already  are  we  more  than  a 
week  behind." 

"It  shall  be  done,  O  my  father,"  Rennoske  replied, 
wondering  at  the  old  man's  mild  tone.  Work  was 
work,  after  all,  and  he  must  do  it,  if  he  would  eat 
and  live. 

All  morning  long  the  four  labored,  ankle-deep,  in 
the  rice  fields.  They  returned  to  the  house  for  a 
frugal  meal  at  noon;  then  again  to  the  fields  and 
work.  Once  Rennoske  stood  up  straight,  for  the 
pain  in  his  back  was  great  from  long  bending.  His 
finger-tips,  too,  were  shriveled  by  long  immersion 
in  the  water.  Kiku  stood  beside  him.  Like  a  flash 
her  position  in  this  tangle  came  to  him. 

Farther  than  ever  from  him  now  she  was  —  he 
knew  that.  Osaki  was  gone,  stung  by  a  taunt.  He, 
in  his  excess  of  sudden  jealousy,  had  flung  the  girl 
in  the  seal-hunter's  face.  Osaki  had  retaliated  by 
refusing  her  and  challenging  him. 

Could  he  now  take  what  he  had  offered  to  his 
rival  with  scorn?  Then,  too,  the  sailor  had  the 


TORN    UP    BY    THE    ROOTS        213 

whiphand  over  him.  He  had  not  refused  the  girl  — 
he  was  still  her  betrothed.  The  oath  he  had  not 
asked  be  taken  back. 

"There  shall  be  no  marriage  between  her  and  me 
until  the  stain  is  wiped  from  my  name,"  the  seal- 
hunter  had  said.  It  was  clear  the  seal-hunter  be- 
lieved the  marriage  some  time  would  take  place. 
Thus  Rennoske  saw  the  thing  in  its  true  light.  The 
victory  last  night  had  been  his;  the  triumph  today 
was  Osaki's. 

"Thine  eyes  are  clearer  than  mine,"  said  the 
farmer  suddenly.  "Who  dost  thou  see  about  our 
house  ? " 

Rennoske  shaded  his  eyes  and  looked  toward  the 
cottage. 

"There  is  an  old  woman  I  see  plainly,"  he  re- 
plied. "The  other  might  be  a  boy  by  his  stature, 
yet  his  shoulders  are  too  broad,  and  his  arms 
hang  to  his  knees  like  an  ape's.  An  odd  creature, 
surely." 

"I  know  of  no  such  pair,"  said  the  farmer.  "What 
do  they  seem  to  do?" 

"They  look  about,  O  my  father,  as  if  in  search  of 
some  one." 

"Hei!  Perhaps  they  would  buy  rice  plants  or 
have  lost  their  way." 

Miyoshi  stepped  out  of  the  ditch  and  ambled 
through  the  grass. 


THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Come,  woman,"  he  called  to  his  wife,  "thy  help 
may  be  needed." 

They  had  no  sooner  rounded  the  boulder  than 
Rennoske  bent  over  to  the  silent,  stooping  Kiku 
San,  and  in  the  ardor  of  his  youth  his  words  came 
in  a  passionate  stream: 

"My  gentlest  flower,  it  is  but  just  that  thou 
shouldst  know  the  joy  that  came  to  me  when  thou 
didst  show  to  me  where  thy  heart  was.  Long  have 
I  loved  thee,  and  in  silence,  for  I  knew  thou  wert  the 
promised  bride  of  another. 

"Honor  closed  my  lips,  Kiku  San,  and  I  thought 
thy  grief  was  for  Osaki,  when  it  was  but  fear  that  I 
should  be  slain.  I  thank  thee  for  thy  love!  It  shall 
keep  me  company  many  a  weary  day.  I  know  now 
that  my  love  is  returned." 

She  looked  up  at  him  smiling,  yet  there  were  tears 
in  the  smile.  She  must  have  divined  by  his  manner 
more  than  his  words  what  was  in  his  mind.  She 
answered  sweetly: 

"Why  must  you  go,  Little  Warrior,  and  whither? 
Is  it  not  pleasant  here?  It  is  not  for  me  to  ask;  I 
am  but  a  woman.  I  would  not  have  you  go." 

"Yet  go  I  must,  soon  or  late,  gentlest  flower. 
Defeat  came  upon  me  in  the  field.  I  am  a  man, 
Kiku  San.  Shall  the  people  rise  and  point  fingers 
at  me,  crying,  'Coward'?  Nay,  till  that  defeat  is 
turned  to  victory  must  I  wander  far.  Wouldst  have 


TORN    UP    BY    THE    ROOTS       215 

a  poltroon  for  a  husband?  By  Inari,  nay!  Tri- 
umphant I  return  or  never.  This  is  my  Saianara!" 

"Then  why  do  you  leave  me  here  to  be  the  bride 
of  Osaki,  whom  I  hate?"  questioned  the  trembling 
girl.  He  scowled  at  the  name.  She  saw  her  words 
had  struck,  and  followed  her  vantage: 

"Why  do  you  fear  him?  Twice  have  you  van- 
quished him  in  fair  fight.  Man  to  man  he  is  no 
match  for  you." 

"  Fear  him  ?  It  is  to  meet  him  I  go.  Thou  know- 
est  full  well  he  durst  not  touch  me  while  I  am  yet 
under  my  father's  roof." 

"And  you  will  think  of  me  when  afar,  Little 
Warrior?" 

"Think  of  thee,  gentlest  flower,"  he  said,  and  there 
was  tenderness  in  his  voice.  "When  the  sun  shines 
golden  on  the  rice  fields;  when  the  red  moon  of 
autumn  turns  the  spray  from  the  mountain  torrent 
into  a  thousand  tiny  rubies;  when  the  heron  flies 
across  the  sea  and  the  air  is  sweet  with  the  salt  and 
the  seaweed;  when  the  soft  spring  rain  scatters 
pink  the  petals  of  the  cherry  blossoms;  when  the 
chrysanthemums  nod  red,  yellow,  and  purple  in  the 
November  breeze,  then  will  I  think  of  thee,  O  Kiku 
San." 

She  would  have  spoken  a  reply;  she  might  have 
told  him  many  things,  many  things  she  could  have 
done  for  him,  for  there  was  nothing  she  could  not 


2i6    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

have  done  at  that  moment.  But  Kiku  was  unlearned 
and  unlettered. 

She  could  not  tell  her  love  as  he  could.  But  it 
was  there,  overwhelmingly  there.  She  saw  how 
hard  the  battle  would  be  with  him  gone.  He  was  a 
man.  His  sword,  his  strong  arm  might  hew  down 
barriers.  He  needed  but  to  find  Osaki,  challenge  and 
kill  him  or  be  killed.  Either  way  there  was  action, 
strength,  with  a  ring  of  chance  about  it,  while  she 
must  fight  the  woman's  silent  battle. 

Should  Osaki  return  and  say,  "Woman,  the 
bridal  feast  awaits  thee,"  she  must  come.  If  her 
father  bade  her  marry  Osaki,  this,  that,  or  the  other 
man,  she  knew  she  must  obey  or  be  driven  out  to 
starvation  or  a  life  of  disgrace. 

But  he  was  still  there  before  her,  her  Little  War- 
rior, and  like  a  thirsty  soul  she  drank  him  in  with 
her  eyes.  He,  too,  was  silent.  Her  beauty  came 
suddenly  upon  him,  for  she  shone  now  in  the  glow 
of  his  love.  Thus  they  stood,  ankle-deep  in  the 
water,  as  if  each  looked  a  sublime  thing,  seen  for 
the  first  time. 

The  girl  turned  quickly  at  the  shound  of  a  shrill 
voice.  Rennoske  turned,  too.  The  old  woman  he 
had  seen  by  the  cottage  was  tottering  along  the  path 
toward  him  with  the  aid  of  a  crooked  staff,  while 
Miyoshi  showed  her  the  way.  Rennoske  looked  at 
her  puzzled,  then  Kiku  saw  his  face  change. 


TORN    UP    BY    THE    ROOTS       217 

A  look  of  horror  came  into  his  eyes,  his  jaw  worked 
convulsively.  She  saw  that  he  was  not  looking  at 
the  crone.  What  was  there  about  the  shambling 
thing  that  came  behind  her?  Where  had  she  seen 
it  before?  Then  she  remembered.  It  was  but  a 
while  after  the  Boys'  Festival,  when  she  had  told 
Rennoske  of  her  attempt  to  sink  the  Maya,  Maru. 
It  was  the  Ugly  Dwarf  Rennoske  had  rolled  the 
stone  down  upon. 

She  recalled  the  imbecile  fit  that  followed.  Surely 
it  was  coming  on  again  she  thought,  as  she  watched 
his  trembling  jaw. 

The  old  woman  was  now  within  ten  feet  of  them. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  kimono  of  coarse,  fawn-colored 
silk,  with  a  sash  of  darker  brown.  It  was  the  costume 
typical  of  a  merchant's  wife,  or  of  a  pilgrim  to  a 
Shinto  shrine.  Her  hair  was  a  streaked  gray,  her 
face  covered  with  a  network  of  wrinkles  that  criss- 
crossed each  other.  It  was  a  face  unadorned  and 
ugly.  Taken  from  its  frame  of  silk  and  jeweled 
gewgaws,  washed  clean  of  its  paint,  it  was  the  face 
of  Madame  Golden  Glow,  courtezan  of  the  Matzu- 
yama. 

"The  thousand  shades  of  our  ancestors  be 
praised!"  she  shrieked,  looking  straight  at  Ren- 
noske. "It  is  he!  It  is  he!"  And  with  a  yell  she 
fell  face  downward  at  his  feet. 

"How  now,  Little  Warrior,"  called  the  farmer, 


218     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

coming  up.  "Why  starest  thou  at  the  swooning 
body  of  thy  mother?  Is  it  possible  that  thou 
knowest  her  not?" 

"My  mother?"  gasped  Rennoske.  "My  mother, 
say  you  ? " 

"Surely,"  answered  Miyoshi,  "or  so  she  says,  and 
hath  walked  eighteen  miles  since  yesterday,  all  the 
way  from  Takaguru,  where  a  neighbor  hath  seen 
and  recognized  thee  coming  from  the  battlefield. 
Lift  her  up,  unnatural  son;  lift  her  up!" 

"And  what  may  that  be?" 

Rennoske  pointed  at  the  figure  of  the  dwarf,  who 
squatted  under  a  pine  near  by,  one  great  hairy  arm 
embracing  his  bow-legs,  which  were  clad  in  long, 
white  drawers,  cross-garted  with  a  black,  silken 
rope,  while  with  the  other  he  fanned  his  hideous 
face  with  his  tycoon. 

"For  myself  I  know  not,"  resumed  the  farmer; 
"for  so  ugly  a  thing  I  have  never  seen  before. 
Ask  thou  the  woman.  See,  she  revives." 

The  old  crone  had  indeed  raised  her  head,  then  her 
body,  so  that  she  knelt  upon  the  ground  looking  up 
into  Rennoske's  face.  With  a  wail  she  put  out  a 
wrinkled  hand  and  touched  his  knee. 

He  sprang  back  quickly  and  stared  down  at  her, 
his  lip  between  trembling  thumb  and  forefinger. 
The  woman  raised  her  hands  to  heaven,  then  crossing 
the  skinny  arms  on  her  breast,  she  rocked  to  and  fro. 


TORN    UP    BY    THE    ROOTS       219 

"E-e-e-ah!"  she  wailed.  "Mine  own,  my  lost 
Kojuro  knows  me  not.  He  knows  me  not!  My 
boy  knows  me  not!  Knows  not  the  face  that  looked 
upon  him  as  he  smiled,  a  babe  in  mine  arms.  Oh, 
wo!" 

"Who  is  yon  apelike  thing,  O  woman?"  Ren- 
noske  managed  to  blurt  out.  "Who  is  he,  and 
why  do  I  fear  him?" 

"Alas!"  she  cried,  her  rocking  now  ceased.  "He 
knows  not  Kano,  poor,  misshaped  Kano,  his  own 
blood-brother." 

Rennoske  laughed  wildly. 

"That  my  brother!  How  comes  it,  then,  that  he 
is  crooked  while  I  am  straight?  If  he  is  my  brother, 
we  are  as  unlike  as  the  pine  and  the  apple  tree." 

"What  has  come  over  thy  brain,  my  son,"  the 
woman  went  on,  "that  thou  rememberest  not  the 
deed  that  made  him  what  he  is?  'Twas  thy  hand 
that  misshaped  him.  Thou  wert  but  twelve  years 
old  and  he  nineteen,  yet  thou  hatest  him  because  thy 
father  loved  him  best. 

*  Can  it  be  thou  dost  not  recall  the  day  thou 
hurlest  him  from  a  high  cliff  and  broke  his  legs? 
Surely  thou  rememberest  that,  and  the  flight  from 
us  for  fear  of  thy  father's  wrath  ?  But  come  home, 
Kojuro,  all  is  forgiven.  Thy  father  soon  dies  — 
come  home!" 

"Threw  me  upon  a  jagged  pine  stump,  breaking 


220    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

my  jaw,"  hissed  the  dwarf,  "while  a  great  stone  fell 
with  me  and  made  this  hump  upon  my  crooked 
back.  But  I  forgive  thee,  Kojuro  —  I  forgive  thee!" 

Rennoske  stamped  his  foot  and  shook  his  fist  at 
the  grinning,  abortive  creature. 

"Nay,"  he  cried,  "thou  art  not  my  brother, 
ugly  thing!" 

"Is  it  so?"  squealed  the  dwarf.  "Then  why  dost 
thou  fear  me?  Why  didst  thou  hurl  the  stone  down 
upon  me  these  twelve  moons  back?  Aye,  hurled  a 
stone  upon  me  even  from  where  thou  now  standest, 
cracking  my  poor  skull  that  I  lay  like  death.  And 
when  I  came  to  myself,  in  the  house  of  my  mother, 
I  was  dumb  from  my  broken  jaw  so  that  I  could  not 
tell  where  I  had  seen  thee.  Thou  hatest  me,  as  our 
mother  says.  The  signs  prove  it!" 

Rennoske  stood  puzzled.  He  turned  to  the 
woman. 

"I  tell  thee  thou  art  not  my  mother,"  he  said 
with  shaking  voice.  "Every  drop  of  my  blood 
cries  out  against  it.  Would  I  not  know  them 
if  my  brain  were  fettered  by  a  thousand  chains?" 
he  asked,  turning  to  Miyoshi.  "Would  I  not  know 
them,  O  my  father?  You  know  who  brought  me  — 
speak!" 

The  farmer's  brows  were  drawn  together.  He 
looked  hard  at  his  foster-son. 

"It  is  true,  O  my  son,"  he  said  solemnly,  "that 


TORN    UP    BY    THE    ROOTS       221 

thou  wert  given  to  me  by  an  oldish  man,  who  bore 
himself  like  a  soldier,  and  had  no  look  of  these." 

"What  said  he?"  queried  the  woman  sharply. 

"  In  faith  I  recall  not  now." 

"Think,  honorable  sir." 

"So  —  I  do  remember  his  words:  'Keep  him  till 
they  come  for  him,'  and  again:  ' Saianaray  Little 
Warrior,'  and  so  he  died." 

"Even  so,"  said  the  dwarf.  "It  was  Hara  the 
Fisher.  Remember,  O  my  mother,  he  returned  not 
to  his  wife  and  five  little  ones?" 

"That  is  not  the  name,"  said  Rennoske,  with 
straightened  shoulders.  "The  man  was  a  soldier, 
didst  thou  not  hear  ?  Hara  the  Fisher,  indeed !  Thy 
lie-loom  weaves  poor  cloth,  0  ape  face." 

Madame  Kin-no- Yaku,  plotter  and  power  behind 
a  throne,  cast  a  swift,  silencing  glance  at  the  dwarf. 

"How  canst  thou  be  so  stupid,  Kano?"  she 
snapped.  "Hara  was  lost  in  the  great  typhoon. 
Did  I  not  see  his  body  washed  upon  the  beach? 
Another  carried  thee  away.  One  Tobiero,  the  tea- 
planter,  e'en  saw  him  with  thee  upon  his  back.  Thou 
surely  rememberest  the  name  of  — " 

Madame  Golden  Glow  lowered  her  head  as  if  she 
watched  the  turn  of  a  card  on  which  her  whole 
fortune  was  staked.  Then  with  a  reckless  ring  in 
her  voice  she  spoke  the  word:  "Hida!" 

Rennoske  gave  a  joyful  cry. 


222     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Hida  —  that  was  the  name!  We  shall  engrave 
it  in  golden  letters  upon  the  house  shrine,  O  my 
father.  Tell  me  more  of  him;  tell  me  more  of  him, 
and  I  will  bless  thee." 

In  his  anxiety  he  bent  down  and  laid  an  impulsive 
hand  on  her  shoulder.  Her  manner  changed.  She 
cooed  pleasantly: 

"As  we  go  along,  Kojuro,  as  we  go  along.  Lift 
up  thy  mother  —  so !  I  will  tell  thee  of  Hida  as  we 
go  along." 

Rennoske  looked  about  him  in  an  odd  panic. 
There  stood  his  foster-father,  silent  and  frowning. 
The  dwarf,  his  tycoon  on  his  head,  leaned  grinning 
against  the  tree.  The  old  woman  stood  up,  bearing 
her  weight  upon  the  crooked  staff. 

And  there,  a  rice  plant  in  either  hand  as  she  had 
pulled  them  up,  her  eyes  staring,  stood  Kiku,  ankle- 
deep  in  the  water.  Rennoske  turned  toward  her. 
He  strove  to  smile  and  hide  the  sadness  that  clutched 
icy  at  his  heart. 

"Farewell,  gentlest  flower,"  he  said  softly.  "I 
knew  I  should  go.  Whence  I  know  not,  yet  it  is 
best  I  do.  May  the  spirits  of  thine  ancestors  and 
mine  watch  over  thee  till  we  meet  once  more  —  be 
it  soon  or  late,  here  or  beyond." 

Her  voice  came  like  that  of  a  sleep-walker,  a 
sibilant  whisper: 

"You  go  then,  Little  Warrior!    The  words  you 


TORN    UP    BY    THE    ROOTS       223 

spoke  to  me  shall  ring  in  my  ears  like  the  sweet 
tinkling  of  far-away  temple  bells  at  twilight. 
Saianara!" 

She  stood  like  a  figure  of  wood,  while  the  sun  shone 
on  the  glossiness  of  her  raven  hair. 

"Come  then,  strangers,"  said  Miyoshi.  "Thou 
wilt  surely  partake  of  an  humble  cup  of  tea  at  my 
hands  while  I  bid  farewell  to  my  son,  for  a  son  he 
has  indeed  been  to  me."  And  he  led  the  way  along 
the  path. 

Madame  Golden  Glow  and  the  dwarf  followed, 
while  Rennoske  trailed  behind  with  bowed  head,  not 
daring  to  turn  his  eyes  again  upon  the  rice  fields, 
where  the  sun  changed  the  waters  into  ribbons  of 
orange. 


Chapter  XF III  f 

A  Deserted  Shoji  upon  the 
Marsh 

E-E-E-AH!  How  my  feet  burn!  How  my 
back  aches !  And  thou  tellest  me  there  are 
more  of  these  hateful  bogs  of  black  mud 
with  the  sharp  grass  that  sprouts  up  as  from  the  head 
of  an  unshorn  child !  Gods  of  my  ancestors  —  dost 
thou  call  this  a  bridge  ?  Nay,  I  cannot  —  cannot 
cross  it! 

"Give  me  thy  hand  —  so  —  carefully,  carefully, 
Kojuro!  'Tis  as  slippery  as  a  grape  floating  in 
honey.  So  —  so  —  the  gods  be  praised  —  I  am 
across.  E-e-e-ah!  Here  let  us  sit,  Kojuro.  I 
must  rest.  I  shall  surely  die  if  I  go  a  step  farther. 
E-e-e-ah!" 

All  this  from  the  ancient  crone,  moans  and  lament- 
ings.  It  was  at  the  same  log  bridge  over  the  rushing 
torrent  that  had  twice  been  so  fateful  to  Rennoske. 

He  thought  of  the  first  time  as  he  sat  there  silent 
upon  a  mossy  stone;  but  the  memory  recalled  Kiku 
again,  raising  the  sadness  in  his  heart  to  overflowing. 


A    DESERTED    SHOJI  225 

He  reached  out  and  pulled  a  switch  from  a  hazel- 
bush,  and  with  it  cut  viciously  at  the  nodding  butter- 
cups, as  if  they  were  the  heads  of  the  Matsuyama. 

He  was  alone  with  the  old  woman,  because  of  the 
fact  that  the  dwarf  had  gone  ahead  to  prepare  for  a 
lodging  for  the  night,  as  the  distance  to  his  new  home 
was  too  great  for  them  to  travel  in  a  single  day. 
This  the  old  woman  had  told  him,  along  with  many 
other  trivial  things  that  interested  him  not  at  all. 

The  departure  of  the  dwarf  had  not  bothered  him; 
he  could  spare  his  company  surely.  It  was  enough 
that  he  must  listen  to  the  complaining  hag  that  sat 
beside  him. 

Not  one  word  had  been  said  about  Hida,  not  one 
syllable  of  the  news  Rennoske  longed  to  hear.  He 
had  questioned  in  vain.  There  was  talk  of  the 
illness  of  his  father,  the  badness  of  the  tea  crop, 
the  dwarf's  terrible  struggle  against  death.  Of  the 
man  that  had  brought  him  to  the  home  of  Miyoshi 
there  was  ever  silence  or  a  whining  complaint. 

"Is  that  the  sun  I  see  slanting  through  the 
maples?"  said  the  woman  at  length.  "Come,  we 
must  onward,  Kojuro,  if  we  would  reach  the  house 
of  Okubo  ere  nightfall.  E-e-e-ah!  More  bogs  — 
more  filthy  pools!  Let  me  lean  on  thy  shoulder, 
Kojuro  —  so  —  we  go  onward. 

"Thou  art  a  brave  son  and  strong.  Thy  father 
should  turn  to  health  again  at  sight  of  thee.  E-e-e-ah! 


226    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

How  my  feet  burn!  How  my  back  aches!  It  is  not 
often  I  come  so  far;  but  it  is  worth  the  trouble  to 
find  thee,  Kojuro,  it  is  worth  the  trouble." 

The  woman  whining,  the  man  silent,  the  strange 
pair  made  their  way  slowly  through  and  out  of  the 
woods  to  the  white  sandy  road.  Purple  were  the 
rushes,  and  cattails  beside  it,  for  the  sun  had  sunk. 
The  air  was  damp  with  the  salt  air;  heat  lightning 
flashed  in  a  bank  of  sullen  clouds  to  northward. 
Still  they  walked  on,  slowly,  slowly,  slowly. 

"We  are  here  at  length,"  called  out  the  woman 
suddenly.  "Gods  of  my  ancestors,  it  pleases  me! 
See,  Kano  awaits  us.  This  way,  Kojuro." 

The  old  crone  turned  sharply  to  the  right  and 
parted  the  tall  green  rushes.  Rennoske,  following, 
saw  that  the  mud  below  his  feet  was  covered  by 
boards  that  zigzagged  in  and  out,  making  a  path. 
Even  in  the  dim  light  he  noticed  that  none  of  these 
boards  matched  each  other,  some  being  old,  others 
new.  They  were  clean  and  unsoiled  by  footmarks,  as 
if  freshly  laid  there.  The  woman  ahead  of  him  he 
could  scarcely  see,  for  the  tall  reeds  that  grew  head- 
high  closed  over  the  crazy  path.  He  wondered  at 
the  woman's  words  as  he  carefully  picked  his  way. 
How  had  she  seen  the  dwarf?  He  could  see  nothing 
but  reeds,  sullen  sky,  and  black  ooze. 

A  sharp  turn  and  he  came  upon  a  round  clearing 
in  the  wall  of  nodding  green  and  cattails,  in  the 


A    DESERTED    SHOJI  227 

center  of  which  stood  the  house,  or  rather  what  was 
left  of  it,  for  it  was  in  a  state  of  dilapidation.  The 
platform  stood  upon  three  rotted  tree  trunks,  sunk 
deep  into  the  slime.  Where  should  have  been  the 
fourth  post,  the  boards  sloped  downward  in  a  rickety 
confusion. 

The  roof  was  supported  on  four  worm-eaten  pillars, 
all  of  them  at  crazy  angles  to  each  other.  The 
thatch  was  ragged  and  torn,  filled  with  rotting  birds' 
nests  and  the  seaweed  blown  by  the  storms  of  years. 

Upon  the  top  step  of  a  ramshackle  tree  sat  the 
dwarf,  still  fanning  himself  with  his  tycoon,  still 
leering,  blue-gummed.  Behind  him  stood  another 
man.  Broad  of  shoulder,  deep  of  chest  he  was;  his 
bloodshot  eyes  twinkled  close  to  a  flat  nose,  while  a 
wicked  mouth  smiled  in  a  square  jaw. 

"Welcome,  O  my  mother,"  chuckled  the  dwarf, 
"and  a  welcome  to  thee,  O  Kojuro,  my  brother! 
Welcome  to  the  humble  house  of  Okubo.  We  await 
supper." 

Okubo  never  extended  a  welcome  himself,  but  spat 
into  the  mire.  Rennoske  followed  the  woman  up 
the  creaking  steps  and  on  into  the  house.  Here  an 
odd  sight  greeted  him.  Hanging  from  the  four 
corners  of  the  roof  a  ceiling  cloth  bellied  inward. 
This  was  not  unusual;  it  was  the  cleanliness  of  it 
that  caught  his  eye,  for  it  shone  snow-white  against 
the  cobweb-covered  rafters  and  dust-thick  eaves. 


228     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

In  silence  they  sat  down  before  their  tables. 
Again  Rennoske  was  struck  by  the  strangeness  of 
the  dishes,  for  some  were  of  new  lacquerware,  others 
old,  scarred,  and  wrinkled,  and  some  of  chipped  and 
cracked  porcelain. 

The  meal  was  cold  and  tasteless,  soup,  bamboo 
sprouts,  and  a  raw  herring  soaked  in  soy.  Rennoske 
ate  little,  contenting  himself  with  a  morsel  of  fish 
and  a  mouthful  of  tepid  tea. 

He  sat  motionless  while  the  woman  ordered  the 
man  about.  He  could  plainly  see  by  the  fellow's 
manner  that  Okubo  was  not  Okubo  at  all,  any 
more  than  it  was  his  house,  for  he  spat  most  un- 
familiarly  on  the  new-laid  matting.  Yet,  after  all, 
the  woman  might  be  his  mother.  Had  she  not 
known  the  blessed  name  that  recalled  distant  and 
sweet  memories? 

She  was  tired  and  fretted  after  the  long  journey. 
Perhaps  on  the  morrow  she  would  tell  him  more. 
Supposing  he  was  her  son?  Did  she  not  speak  of 
a  tea  plantation  that  his  father  owned?  That 
might  mean  a  home  and  an  inheritance  for  him  — 
and  then? 

The  vista  widened  and  the  way  lay  clear.  First 
there  would  be  another  rebellion,  with  his  father's 
money  to  help  him.  A  new  ruler  chosen  and  the 
Matsuyama  overthrown,  he  would  return,  find 
Osaki,  and  challenge  him.  Once  again  at  his 


A    DESERTED    SHOJI  229 

mercy,  the  seal-hunter  could  scarcely  refuse  to  with- 
draw. He  did  not  want  to  kill  him,  though  if  it 
came  to  that  — 

Honored  by  the  people,  hailed  as  their  deliverer, 
returning  home  in  triumph  with  many  honors,  a 
home  to  bring  his  bride  to,  surely  with  all  this, 
Miyoshi  could  not  fail  to  change  his  tune. 

Thus  sped  his  mind,  building  air-castles,  painting 
pictures  of  himself  and  Kiku,  rose-tinted  days  and 
full  moonlit  nights  under  the  wistaria. 

His  dreams  were  interrupted  by  a  banging  and 
scraping  that  told  him  it  was  time  for  the  shoji 
walls  to  be  put  up.  He  rose  and  watched  the  dwarf 
and  the  so-called  Okubo  slide  them  in.  They  fitted 
badly;  the  grooves  were  damp  and  splintery. 

At  length  he  found  himself  in  the  little  paper- 
enclosed  square  that  was  to  be  his  room  for  the  night. 
Okubo  had  lighted  his  metal  lantern  with  the  many 
holes.  He  could  see  the  spotted  and  streaked  light 
as  it  moved  about  weirdly  on  the  paper.  He  heard 
whispering,  then  the  dwarfs  voice: 

"Here  is  thy  bedding,  O  Kojuro!"  A  soft  thump 
sounded  on  the  floor  at  his  feet.  He  picked  up  the 
wadded  cloth  and,  calling  his  thanks,  spread  it  out 
upon  the  floor. 

"Thou  art  welcome,"  the  hissing  croak  came  back. 
"I  wish  thee  a  long  sleep,  Kojuro,  my  brother  —  a 
long  sleep  and  a  deep  one." 


230    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

He  heard  Okubo  blow  out  the  light.  He  was  in 
darkness.  He  lay  flat  on  his  back  for  an  hour  or 
two,  listening  to  the  crickets  making  the  gacha-gacha, 
the  simple  peasant's  well-loved  harmony.  "  j 

A  far-away  owl  hooted  once  —  twice  —  thrice. 
He  grew  tired  counting  the  melancholy  notes. 
Now  came  the  nightingale,  its  voice  trembling  over 
the  waste.  It  stopped. 

Another  owl  sounded  nearer  —  then  the  far-away 
one  again.  The  crickets  chirped  on,  the  deep  bass 
of  a  frog  adding  to  the  lulling  din. 

But  there  was  no  sleep  for  Rennoske  this  night. 
Many  had  been  the  mental  shocks  of  the  day  — 
his  parting  from  Kiku3  the  old  woman's  startling 
news,  the  sight  of  the  dwarf,  the  mention  of  that 
memory-rattling  name.  Now  it  was  the  strangeness 
of  this  that  disturbed  his  thoughts,  bringing  back 
that  odd,  sickening  whirling  of  his  brain  and  the 
pain  that  went  with  it.  Mentally  he  wrestled  with 
the  thing  he  feared  —  his  thinking  kept  his  mind 
clear. 

From  whence  came  that  light?  He  sat  bolt 
upright  in  a  panic  —  then  laughed  at  himself.  It 
was  a  great  jagged  patch  of  glow  upon  the  ceiling 
cloth.  How  silly!  It  was  the  moon,  of  course, 
shining  through  a  ragged  hole  in  the  roof  that  the 
ceiling  cloth  covered.  The  light  was  obscured,  then 
came  again  brighter  than  before.  There  must  be 


A    DESERTED    SHOJI  231 

clouds  flying  before  the  face  of  the  moon,  he 
thought. 

It  came  a  third  time,  still  brighter.  Surely  that 
was  not  there  before!  It  shone  through  the  ceiling 
and  on  down  the  side  of  the  shoji.  At  first  it  seemed 
like  the  moving  shadow  of  a  spider,  this  thin  line  of 
black;  but  he  knew  then  that  it  moved  too  straight 
for  the  insect.  He  must  needs  wait  now  until  the 
light  came  again.  It  seemed  an  hour  —  at  last  it 
shone,  bright,  steady,  silvery. 

The  thin  black  line  was  no  moving  shadow  of  a 
spider.  It  had  reached  the  floor.  Then,  too,  the 
line  remained  where  it  was;  a  shadow  would  have 
moved  with  the  object.  It  was  running  horizontal 
now,  at  right  angles  with  the  first.  Clearly,  dis- 
tinctly, he  saw  it  in  the  soft  lunar  rays.  It  was  the 
sharp  point  of  a  keen-edged  knife! 

A  man  was  cutting  through  the  thin  paper  wall. 
Why  could  Rennoske  not  creep  from  his  couch, 
stand  beside  the  square,  and  strangle  the  marauder 
as  he  crawled  in? 

It  was  this  other  horrible,  stifling  thing  that  crept 
through  his  muscles  like  ice,  pressed  down  his  chest 
like  a  load  of  lead,  deadened  his  thoughts  like  the 
fumes  of  opium  —  this  disease  —  this  death-sleep  — 
this  cataleptic  terror! 

Suddenly  from  the  other  side  of  the  room  came  a 
faint  tearing  sound;  and  there,  less  clearly  defined 


232     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

by  the  reflected  light,  but  as  swift  and  as  certain, 
another  thin  black  line  moved  on  the  paper;  another 
knife  point  showed  its  sinister  gleam! 

Gods!  To  be  killed  like  a  rat  in  a  trap  as  he  lay 
defenseless  upon  his  back!  This  was  unfair.  Wait 
—  give  him  a  fight  for  it! 

The  light  was  overshadowed  again. 

In  those  few  hour-seeming  moments,  when  the 
night  noises  sounded  doubly  loud  and  the  rattle  of 
the  paper  like  thunder,  he  thought  of  every  moment 
of  his  life  —  every  moment  before  the  great  blank  — 
the  life  on  the  rice  farm,  the  rebellion,  the  rivalry 
for  Kiku's  hand. 

Where  now  was  the  old  voice  so  low  and  tender? 
He  would  so  soon  hear  it  forever  in  the  spirit  land. 
There  was  only  a  thin  wall  of  paper  between  it  and 
him.  He  wondered  whether  the  knife  blades  would 
pain  him  or  whether  the  leaden  sensation  in  all  his 
body  would  deaden  their  keen  edges. 

The  moonlight  shone  again. 

He  looked  to  the  left.  The  paper  there  was  cut 
in  the  form  of  an  L  that  was  gradually  becoming  a 
square-bottomed  U.  He  looked  to  the  right  —  with 
his  eyes  only  —  for  a  stiffness  in  the  back  of  his 
neck  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  turn  his  head. 
No  half-cut  thing  was  there;  but  a  clear  square  in 
the  paper  —  black,  grim,  and  yawning. 

Something  moved  along  the  floor.     It  was  a  hand, 


A    DESERTED    SHOJI  233 

a  long-nailed,  twisted-knuckled  hand.  A  broad  wrist, 
then  a  hairy,  muscular  forearm  followed  it.  The 
nails  of  the  hand  dug  into  the  matting,  the  muscles 
of  the  forearm  swelled  —  there  was  a  scraping  —  a 
face  showed  in  the  black  frame  of  the  square. 

Rennoske  found  himself  picking  out  every  feature. 
The  slanting  eyes  with  their  saffron  whites,  the  flat 
nose  that  spread  over  almost  half  the  face,  the  long 
upper  lip,  the  loose  under  lip  that  protruded  over 
the  shriveled  chin,  and  between  those  yellow,  sharp- 
pointed  teeth  the  long  blade  of  the  knife  shone  in 
the  pale  glow  from  above. 

He  heard  the  sweep  of  the  paper  on  the  other  side 
and  knew  by  the  sound  that  the  other  square  was 
cut  and  another  body  was  crawling  toward  him 
with  another  knife. 

The  face  of  the  Ugly  Dwarf  fascinated  him,  for 
it  came  to  him  now  that  he  had  seen  that  face  before 
—  not  in  this  life,  but  that  other  life  beyond  the  veil 
of  the  past,  when  he  was  —  oh,  before  he  was  the 
adopted  son  of  Miyoshi  the  Farmer! 

He  tried  to  call.  Words  would  not  come.  Surely 
this  was  too  unfair.  All  he  wanted  to  say,  all  he 
wished  to  do,  was  to  ask  this  creature  who  sought  his 
life  his  own  name.  Let  him  tell  him  who  he  was — 
then  he  could  strike.  But  vain  was  the  struggle — 
blackness — he  knew  nothing. 


234    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

A  bright  light  shone  through  the  jagged  hole  in  the 
roof  when  he  awoke.  He  knew  it  must  be  the  sun. 
It  was  morning  and  he  was  alive.  Or  perhaps  this  was 
but  his  spirit  left  here  to  haunt  the  scene  of  his  death. 

Fearing  everything,  he  sat  up  slowly  and  looked. 
There  above  bellied  the  snow-white  ceiling  cloth 
against  the  cobweb-covered  rafters  and  dust-thick 
eaves.  There  was  the  paper  of  the  shoji  walls  — 
yes,  there  was  the  square  cut  in  each. 

He  rose  and  looked  along  the  floor.  What  was 
that  huddled  heap  in  the  corner?  He  went  slowly 
to  it  and  looked  closely.  There  could  be  no  mis- 
taking those  long  white  drawers  cross-garted  with 
the  black  silken  rope,  no  mistaking  those  broad 
shoulders  and  hairy,  muscular  arms  that,  with  the 
fists  tightly  clenched,  were  drawn  over  the  now 
sunken  chest. 

He  stooped  and  turned  the  body  of  the  dwarf 
upon  its  back.  The  yellow  eyes  stared  horribly  at 
the  ceiling,  the  flat  nose  was  flatter  still,  the  loose- 
lipped  mouth  was  wide  open,  and  between  the 
yellow  teeth  the  tongue  protruded  black.  About 
the  heavy  neck  were  the  prints  of  five  fingers. 
The  creature  had  been  strangled! 

There  was  no  halting  here.  He  went  to  the  shoji 
wall  upon  his  right  and  strove  to  shove  it  out  of  its 
groove,  for  through  that  room  lay  the  door.  He 
tugged  and  pulled. 


A    DESERTED    SHOJI  235 

There  was  a  snapping  and  rending  of  wood  — 
the  teak  and  paper  thing  fell  inward,  no  longer  held 
in  place  by  the  rotted  groove  that  gave  way  under 
the  pressure.  A  flood  of  sunlight  followed  him  into 
the  dim  room. 

There  was  no  need  for  a  second  glance  at  the 
huddled  thing  in  that  dark  corner.  What  was  it 
now?  Yesterday  it  had  been  an  old  woman  who 
whined  of  her  feet  and  her  back.  Yesterday  it  was 
she  who,  in  fawn-colored  kimono  and  crooked  staff, 
called  herself  the  mother  of  Rennoske.  Yesterday 
it  was  Madame  Golden  Glow,  plotter,  courtezan  of 
the  Matsuyama,  power  behind  a  throne.  Today  — 

The  face  was  more  than  unadorned  and  ugly, 
more  than  washed  clean  of  its  paint  and  taken  from 
its  frame  of  silk  and  jeweled  gewgaws. 

For  the  streaked  gray  hair  was  disheveled,  the 
eyes  stared  ceilingward,  the  mouth  hung  wide  open. 
The  skinny  arms  were  drawn  up  and  close  hugged 
the  bent  knees.  Plainly  upon  the  wrinkled  throat 
showed  the  telltale  finger-marks! 

With  a  roar  of  horror  Rennoske  ran  pellmell  into 
the  outside  wall  of  the  house,  throwing  his  whole 
weight  upon  it.  It  snapped  and  fell  away  from  the 
worm-eaten  groove,  splashing  into  the  mud  with 
sickly  thud.  He  jumped.  A  swarm  of  flies  buzzed 
upward  from  the  ooze.  He  would  have  stepped 
upon  a  something  that  stuck  deep  into  the  slime. 


236     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

He  saw  that,  too  —  the  upturned,  horrible  face  of 
the  man  they  called  Okubo.  The  signs  were  there, 
staring  eyes,  gaping  mouth,  blackened,  protruding 
tongue ! 

Splashing  in  the  mire,  rattling  on  the  boards, 
Rennoske  fled.  His  arms  thrust  straight  before 
him,  his  hands  parting  the  rushes  that  closed  with  a 
rustling  sweep  behind  him.  Would  he  ever  be  out 
of  this  buzzing,  green,  ill-smelling  ooze,  this  rotting, 
worm-eaten  horror? 

At  last  the  road!  It  stretched  out  before  him, 
white  and  green-flanked  in  the  brilliant  sunlight. 
On  he  ran,  kicking  up  the  dust  that  flew  in  a  cloud 
and  stuck  to  the  sweat  on  his  forehead.  On  and 
on,  anywhere  —  anywhere  —  away  from  that  scene 
of  desolation  and  mysterious  death! 


Chapter  XIX 
A  Heap  of  Blackened  Ashes 

IT  seemed  to  him  as  if  all  the  world  were  running 
that  beautiful  summer  day.  At  least  a  dozen 
peasants  had  passed  him,  tearing  along,  wild- 
eyed,  in  the  opposite  direction. 

He  reached  the  bogs  through  the  forest  before  he 
slackened  his  pace,  and,  being  tired,  sat  upon  a 
mossy  stone  to  rest. 

The  more  he  thought  of  the  last  night's  happen- 
ings, the  more  he  was  puzzled.  Who  had  slain  the 
dwarf,  the  woman,  and  the  man,  and — why?  Why 
had  the  ugly  creature  sought  to  kill  him?  Why 
were  the  men  running?  Where  was  he  to  go? 

It  was  all  a  jumble  that  he  dismissed  in  contempla- 
tion of  the  sunlight  through  the  trees,  in  giving  ear 
to  the  birds  that  sang  so  sweetly,  in  smelling  the 
perfume  of  the  leaves  as  it  mixed  with  the  salt  air 
of  the  sea. 

He  listened  —  feet  were  pattering  over  the  leaves 
behind  him.  Still  unnerved  by  his  gruesome  expe- 
rience, he  jumped  up  quickly.  Was  this  another 


238     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

to  seek  his  life?  He  thought  of  flight  and  the  log 
bridge  that  lay  but  a  little  way  ahead  of  him.  He 
could  reach  that,  cross  over,  and  fling  it  into  the 
stream.  To  follow  him  would  mean  loss  of  time  and 
would  give  him  a  fair  start.  Flight  —  whither? 

He  had  already  started;  but  suddenly,  disgusted 
with  a  hare-and-hound  existence,  he  stood  resolute, 
listening  to  the  pattering,  waiting  for  whatever  it 
portended.  He  saw  the  first  of  the  men  —  fishers 
they  were  —  carrying  clubs,  knives,  and  spears. 
They  were  about  twenty  in  all.  He  folded  his  arms 
across  his  chest  awaiting  them.  About  a  dozen  feet 
from  where  he  stood  the  leader  halted  and  turned 
back  to  his  fellows. 

"We  have  found  him!"  he  cried  over  his  shoulder. 
"We  search  no  more.  We  shall  strike  the  blow!" 

Still  Rennoske  stood,  motionless,  fearless  now, 
with  arms  folded  across  his  chest,  waiting  for  them 
to  come  on  and  do  what  they  would.  Then  it 
happened  —  the  man  dropped  face  downward  among 
the  leaves  at  his  feet.  In  a  moment  the  entire 
twenty  squatted  upon  the  ground,  faces  between 
palms. 

The  thing  was  so  anticlimactic  that  Rennoske 
could  but  give  forth  a  silly  laugh  like  a  schoolboy. 
It  was  like  sweating  in  terror  under  a  knife  that 
hung  by  a  thread  and  then  find  the  blade  but  paper. 

"Brothers   all,"   he   cried   good-naturedly,    "rise 


HEAP  OF  BLACKENED  ASHES  239 

and  tell  me  why  you  have  thus  come  upon  me  with 
shouts  and  ready  weapons?" 

"All  hail  the  mighty  one!"  cried  a  kneeling 
peasant. 

"May  you  live  ten  thousand  years!"  another. 

"Long  live  the  Little  Warrior!"  they  all  cried. 
"Long  live  the  man  who  shall  lead  us  to  victory!" 

Rennoske  laughed  again;  the  thing  struck  him  as 
grotesque.  As  if  in  answer  to  his  dreams,  these  men 
came  to  him  swearing  fealty  and  asking  to  be  led  to 
victory.  There  was  the  flavor  of  the  supernatural 
about  it. 

"There  is  mystery  here,  men  of  Boruku,"  said 
he  with  contracted  brows.  "What  shall  twenty  of 
us  do?  We  are  but  a  dried  pea  hurled  against  an 
avalanche." 

"We  care  not,"  a  sturdy  fisher  said.  "We  are 
bidden  to  follow  you  —  that  will  we  do." 

At  that  he  was  more  puzzled  than  ever. 

"As  ye  were  bidden  ?  Strange  talk,  men  of  Boruku. 
No  living  soul  knows  my  thought  or  cares  what  I 
need.  Who  bids  ye  join  me?  Answer,  I  beseech 
ye!" 

"We  asked  his  name,"  replied  the  first  speaker, 
"but  he  bade  us  call  him  the  Man  with  the  Scar 
upon  his  Breast.  This  only  did  he  say,  except  that 
more  would  find  and  follow  you." 

"What  manner  of  man  was  he?" 


240    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"That,  too,  we  cannot  reveal,  O  leader,  for  he 
made  us  a  secret  sign  that  is  known  only  to  those 
who  live  by  the  sea." 

"Hei  —  and  you  are  to  follow?" 

"Wherever  your  steps  lead,  whether  you  will 
or  no." 

"I  go  to  Takenaka  and  there  bide  me  for  a  time. 
Follow,  then." 

Oh,  puzzle  upon  puzzle  in  a  day  of  puzzles!  At 
night  he  wakes  to  find  an  assassin  with  knife  in  teeth 
creeping  upon  him.  He  is  overcome  by  his  malady. 
In  the  morning  he  finds  that  assailant  and  his 
accomplices  strangled  beside  him.  Now  come  these 
twenty  swearing  fealty  to  him,  with  strange  words 
about  "the  Man  with  the  Scar  upon  his  Breast," 
who  would  send  more. 

He  had  an  ambition  to  overthrow  the  Matsuyama. 
He  had  led  a  thousand  against  them  and  failed  — 
now  he  led  twenty.  Sturdy,  honest-faced  souls  that 
had  tasted  warfare  with  him  —  yet  but  twenty. 
Would  the  number  swell  again?  Would  the  chance 
for  victory  come  so  soon  and  with  so  few? 

The  first  thing  that  struck  him  as  strange  as  his 
footsteps  crackled  over  the  heaps  of  dead  leaves, 
and  the  footsteps  of  the  twenty  swished  behind  him, 
was  a  thin,  blue  haze. 

He  thought  it  came  from  the  fires  of  charcoal- 
burners;  but  he  was  woodsman  enough  to  know  that 


HEAP  OF  BLACKENED  ASHES  241 

this  would  have  drifted  through  the  trees.  What  he 
saw  came  in  heavy  volumes,  and  wafted  down  from 
over  the  green  tops.  By  the  smell,  too,  there  was 
more  than  charcoal  burning. 

Next  he  had  a  view,  along  the  sun-filtered  path 
ahead  of  him,  of  a  frantic  man  with  his  wife  and 
four  small  children.  The  man,  running  along  with 
head  down,  carried  one  tot  on  his  back,  dragged 
another  by  one  hand,  while  he  held  his  wife  with 
the  other.  She,  in  turn,  carried  another  youngster, 
while  pots  and  pans  clattered  from  a  string  about 
her  neck. 

Straight  for  Rennoske  and  the  twenty  they  came. 
The  man  neither  saw  nor  heard  them  until  he  was 
about  ten  feet  away.  When  he  did,  he  uttered  a 
howl  of  dismay,  darted  into  the  underbrush,  hauling 
the  whole  yelping  family  after  him.  With  the  crash 
of  leaves  and  the  snapping  of  twigs  the  bedlam  died 
away  in  the  green  distance. 

"Who  be  these?"  asked  Rennoske  of  the  nearest 
man.  "They  run  from  us  as  though  we  were  enemies. 
I  cannot  fathom  it." 

"Nor  I,  O  leader,"  the  man  replied  gravely; 
"unless  it  be  that  the  Black  Boar  runs  rampant 
again." 

"Let  us  hasten  and —  Look  —  there  the  smoke 
thickens." 

Many  times  on  the  road  through  the  bogs  and 


242    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

quagmire  the  scene,  or  ones  similar,  was  repeated. 
Men  and  women  and  children,  too,  running  in  their 
direction,  turned  and  ran  from  them  at  sight. 
Sparks  now  mingled  with  the  smoke  and  fell  upon 
the  leaves  at  their  feet. 

They  came  now  from  the  shelter  of  the  trees  and 
stood  a  little  distance  from  the  great  granite  rock  on 
which  stood  the  village  of  Takenaka.  Rennoske's 
heart  sank.  His  fears  were  realized.  The  smoke 
poured  black  now  from  the  huddled  huts.  The 
village  was  aflame. 

Through  the  smoke  that  was  blown  along  the  road 
Rennoske  saw  the  fleeing  figures.  In  the  direction 
of  his  own  home,  up  the  mountain,  into  the  forest, 
they  were  scurrying.  One  poor  fellow,  staggering 
down  the  road  in  their  direction,  turned  and  fled. 
He  had  gone  but  a  few  feet  when  he  swayed  and  fell, 
face  downward,  in  the  dust.  Rennoske  ran  quickly 
and  raised  him. 

"Take  the  ram,  then,  wolves!"  the  man  moaned. 
"The  lambs  all  have  ye  slain.  Take  me  —  burn  and 
slaughter  —  I  will  curse  ye  while  ye  do  it!'* 

"We  take  no  life,  reverend  sir  —  thee  of  all  men." 

The  man  turned  and  looked  at  him.  Rennoske 
saw  the  smoke-blackened  face  of  the  Tapper  of 
Laquer  Trees. 

"Inari  be  praised!  You  are  safe,  Little  Warrior." 
The  old  man  laughed  hysterically  as  he  scrambled 


HEAP  OF  BLACKENED  ASHES  243 

to  his  knees.  "The  sight  of  you  is  worth  all  the 
rest.  You  are  safe,  then  —  safe  and  unhurt?" 

"As  safe  as  ever,  reverend  sir.  Why  dost  thou 
ask?  What  mean  these  fires  and  scampering  men 
and  women?" 

"Well  may  you  ask.  Sit  me  here  upon  this 
stone,  for  I  am  weary  and  heart-sick  —  so  —  that 
is  better  now  —  hei  —  a  moment  to  catch  again  my 
wind ! " 

Above,  on  the  heights,  the  flames  crackled;  the 
smoke,  blowing  down,  enveloped  them.  Up  on  the 
mountainside  the  cries  of  the  fleeing  peasants  died 
away.  The  deep-breathing  man  upon  the  roadside 
stone,  the  ring  of  anxious  faces,  they  only  showed 
life  amid  the  havoc.  Nature's  own  sounds  came 
doubly  loud,  as  if  to  say:  "Man  alone  makes  war. 
Here  is  peace." 

The  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees,  his  eyes  upon  the 
ground,  spoke. 

"It  was  but  yestere'en  that  Centaro  the  Wagoner 
came  running  into  the  house  of  Nogi  the  Weaver, 
crying  out  that  a  black  tower  of  smoke  rose  straight 
in  the  air  to  northward." 

"To  northward?"  Rennoske  echoed  with  blanched 
cheeks. 

"Aye  —  hear  on,  O  leader!  Jubika,  son  of  the 
Sandalmaker,  cried  out  the  news  to  me  as  I  sat  by 
my  shoji.  I  ran  to  the  lawn,  where  were  gathered 


244    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

many  more.  It  was  as  he  reported;  smoke  and 
flames  rose  through  the  trees. 

"Not  long  did  we  watch  before  Centaro  cried  out 
and  ran  from  us.  We  could  not  fathom  this  at  first, 
until  we  saw  plainly  that  another  column  of  smoke 
rose  to  the  sky.  All  knew  that  it  was  Centaro's 
house. 

"It  grew  dark  apace,  yet  we  stayed  there  upon  the 
green.  Horrible  was  the  sight,  Little  Warrior.  We 
watched  the  flames  that  rose  ever  nearer  to  us.  As 
one  red,  licking  tongue  topped  the  trees,  another 
behind  it  died  away  into  a  shower  of  sparks.  On- 
ward it  came  until  we  knew  the  last  house  upon 
the  slope  blazed.  There  was  naught  now  between 
the  devastators  and  us. 

"Loud  were  the  shouting,  the  cries,  and  the 
lamentations  when,  at  midnight,  the  soldiers  came 
from  out  the  trees  upon  the  lawn.  The  torches 
they  bore  shone  upon  their  black  armor.  The 
butchers  were  upon  us  —  twenty  of  them  —  the 
butchers  of  the  hated  Matsuyama. 

"I  stayed  no  longer,  for  I  guessed  what  was  in  the 
wind.  I  went  to  mine  own  shoji,  put  up  the  walls, 
and  barred  myself  in.'* 

The  man  paused  and  looked  about  him;  then  he 
shook  his  head,  as  if  the  tale  was  too  terrible  to  tell. 

"All  my  life  I  have  lived  here,  O  leader.  I  have 
gone  abroad  at  my  work;  but  always  I  have  returned 


HEAP  OF  BLACKENED  ASHES  245 

to  Takenaka,  to  find  peace  and  comfort.  I  pray  to 
the  gods  that  death  come  upon  me  before  I  must 
needs  listen  to  the  sounds  of  the  night  just  passed. 
The  cries  of  men,  the  shrieks  of  women,  rent  the 
air,  and  through  it  all  came  the  crackling  of  the 
flames.  Toward  morning  I  heard  a  sobbing  outside 
my  door.  I  opened  it  and  looked  out.  There  upon 
the  ground  lay  little  Jubika,  a  great  wound  in  his 
side.  I  brought  him  in.  The  soldiers  had  been  to 
his  house,  he  told  me.  They  asked  for  some  one. 

"He,  poor  lad,  becoming  frightened,  sought  to 
run  away,  when  a  spear  thrust  laid  him  low.  The 
heat  of  the  flames  from  his  burning  house  made  him 
crawl  through  the  grass,  seeking  he  knew  not  what. 
"The  soldiers  —  whom  do  they  seek?' I  asked 
of  him. 

"They  ask,  first,  if  any  know  Miyoshi  the  Farmer,' 
he  moaned.  'Then  they  cry:  "Thou  knowest  him 
—  where  is  his  son?"  If  the  answer  was  glib  or 
slow,  it  mattered  not. 

"The  man  was  either  beaten  or  stabbed,  and  the 
women  driven  out  of  doors.  I  learned  later,  to  the 
shame  of  my  soul,  that  some  of  our  fairest  daughters 
were  dragged  away  by  the  swine. 

"What  more  need  be  said,  Little  Warrior?  I  left 
my  house  and  did  what  I  could  for  the  wounded, 
which  was  little.  They  burned  it  behind  me  out  of 
sport,  then  returned  whence  they  had  come.  Those 


246     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

that  escaped  —  I  need  not  say  what  they  have  done. 
Look  up,  Little  Warrior  —  like  ants  they  climb  the 
mountain." 

The  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees  rose  to  his  feet. 

"See!  Takenaka  lies  in  ruins.  All  are  fled  but 
me.  Gods,  give  me  the  strength  —  Inari,  enter 
my  brain  and  give  me  the  cunning  to  avenge  this 
shame!" 

His  old  voice  trembled,  while  he  shook  his  clenched 
fists.  Rennoske  stood  with  thumb  and  forefinger 
holding  his  lip.  He  thought  deeply.  Then,  as  if  to 
himself,  they  heard  him  say: 

"They  sought  me  —  now  it  seems  the  time  is  ripe 
that  I  should  seek  them." 

"You  speak  truly,  O  leader,"  the  Tapper  of 
Laquer  Trees  said  quickly.  "The  hate  that  smolders 
in  every  breast  now  bursts  forth  with  the  flames  of 
their  homes.  The  time  is  ripe." 

Still  Rennoske  thought  in  silence,  while  the  awed 
peasants  made  a  ring  about  him.  Suddenly  he 
turned  to  the  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees. 

"Thou  canst  write?" 

"Well  enough  for  the  men  of  these  parts  to  read." 

"Thou  hast  brush,  knife,  and  inkhorn?" 

"The  priest  shall  give  them  me." 

"Good.  Go  now  and  fetch  them.  Then  up  the 
mountains  where  the  men  of  Takenaka  must  pass. 
Go  unto  every  tree  that  thou  knowest.  Cut  away 


HEAP  OF  BLACKENED  ASHES  247 

the  bark  in  a  square  that  the  white  of  the  wood  may 
show;  then  mark  upon  the  square  these  words: 
"'Him  they  call  "Little  Warrior"  waits  by  the 
mountain  torrent  under  the  curved  rock  until  the 
moon  is  full.  There  all  foes  of  the  Matsuyama  shall 
find  him.'" 

The  man  bowed  in  answer. 

"Far  and  near  I  go,  O  leader.  Far  and  near  with 
thy  words  —  aye,  till  I  come  to  the  camphor  trees 
before  the  palace  of  the  Black  Boar.  Saianara  —  I 
salute  you!" 

And  the  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees  turned  and 
walked  toward  the  mountains. 

"Forward,  men  of  Boruku!"  cried  Rennoske. 

If  testimony  were  needed  for  the  words  of  the 
Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees,  it  was  there  in  plenty  for 
any  who  had  eyes  to  see.  The  road,  with  its  woods 
and  pine-clad  hills  —  the  road  he  had  come  along  but 
yesterday  —  presented  quite  a  different  aspect. 

The  steep  incline  to  his  right  bore  all  the  signs  of 
the  Matsuyama  raid  in  their  search  for  him.  House 
after  house  was  razed  to  the  ground.  An  ox-cart 
lay  overturned,  the  beasts  dead  in  their  yoke.  Not 
a  living  thing  was  seen. 

Yes  —  small  black  things  stood  out  against  the 
green  and  gray  of  the  towering  mountain.  Thorough 
had  been  the  work  of  the  soldiers  of  the  Matsuyama, 
Rennoske  thought,  thorough  in  everything  but  the 


248     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

slaying  of  himself.  He  chuckled  queerly  at  that  — 
the  hand  of  justice  was  not  altogether  stayed. 

He  passed  the  rice  fields  of  his  foster-father;  the 
water  in  the  ditches  between  the  dikes  of  mud  turned 
as  ever  by  the  sun  into  ribbons  of  orange.  He 
walked  quickly  up  the  zigzag  path,  sending  the 
stones  flying  in  a  shower. 

Where  the  way  branched  off  and  the  by-path  led 
to  Miyoshi's  house  he  bade  the  men  wait  for  him. 

The  sun  had  set  and  cast  over  all  a  faint  pink  glow. 
The  cherry  trees  stood  as  he  had  last  seen  them,  but 
slightly  blackened  by  the  smoke.  The  round  stone 
wells  were  there,  so  was  the  garden  where  the  chrys- 
anthemums bloomed  in  November.  As  for  the 
house  —  One  post  stood  still  upright,  holding  a 
corner  of  what  had  once  been  the  thatched  roof, 
now  but  a  tangled  and  charred  mass.  The  other  two 
posts  slanted  inward  over  a  heap  of  blackened  ashes. 

The  body  of  Miyoshi  he  found  on  a  little  mound 
where  the  farmer  often  burned  his  charcoal.  The 
wife  lay  face  downward  near  the  door. 

He  searched  among  the  underbrush,  poked  long 
at  the  ruins,  even  throwing  heavy  stones  down  the 
three  wells.  After  an  hour  he  sat  under  the  cherry 
trees,  the  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees'  words  booming 
in  his  ears: 

"Some  of  our  fairest  daughters  were  dragged  away 
by  the  swine." 


HEAP  OF   BLACKENED   ASHES    249 

He  looked  up  at  the  moon,  which  could  be  seen 
faintly  in  a  light-blue  sky.  It  was  a  pale  crescent. 
He  walked  back  to  where  his  men  waited  and  gave 
them  a  command  to  turn  down  toward  the  rock  that 
jutted  out  over  the  waterfall. 

His  face  was  calm,  his  eyes  clear  and  bright.  No 
sigh  nor  tear  nor  sob  came  from  him.  When  the 
body  of  the  Black  Boar  lay  at  his  feet  there  would 
be  time  enough  for  that. 


Chapter  XX 
"The  Knights  of  the  Purple  Lotus 

THE  rushing  torrent  under  the  curved  rock. 
It  was  now  no  scene  of  childhood  wan- 
derings, but  an  armed  camp.  There  was 
the  ledge  of  granite  above  the  boiling,  tumbling 
waterfall;  but  instead  of  an  awkward,  shaven- 
headed  boy,  Rennoske  stood  upon  it  a  full-grown 
man  of  twenty-one,  steel-muscled  and  death-careless. 
Instead  of  a  dainty,  kimono-clad  girl  beside  him, 
her  left  hand  in  his,  there  stood  three  rugged  men. 

The  great  rock  itself,  curved  over  like  the  palm 
of  a  gigantic  hand,  the  thumb  forming  the  ledge  on 
which  they  stood,  cast  a  black  shadow  on  the  white 
water  that  foamed  out  of  the  side  of  the  mountain 
and  fell  sheer  a  hundred  feet  into  the  stream  below. 
The  moon  was  at  the  full. 

Along  the  zigzag  path  up  the  mountainside  many 
figures  sat  or  lay,  singly,  in  pairs,  and  odd  groups. 
The  light  of  the  moon  showed  them,  up  and  along 
the  path,  until  it  dwindled  away  between  the  two 
granite  boulders. 


KNIGHTS  OF  THE  PURPLE  LOTUS    251 

They  were  there,  too,  these  still  and  slightly 
moving  figures.  They  were  upon  the  by-path,  upon 
the  shelving  plateau  where  once  stood  the  house  of 
Miyoshi  the  Farmer,  under  the  cherry  trees,  in  the 
trampled  garden,  about  the  three  wells;  yes,  even 
along  the  way  to  the  rice  fields  they  lay  in  the  rank, 
uncut  grass. 

The  slope  of  the  hill  was  black-dotted  with  them, 
and  beside  every  reclining,  sleeping,  or  sitting  figure 
weapons  silvery  in  the  soft  light. 

For  the  message  of  the  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees 
had  been  cut  in  the  bark  of  many  trees.  The  chil- 
dren of  the  Mikado  had  read;  the  children  of  the 
Mikado  had  suffered  at  the  hands  of  the  Matsuyama; 
the  children  of  the  Mikado  had  gone  to  the  curved 
rock  by  the  mountain  torrent. 

Then  there  were  those  who  lived  and  took  their 
living  from  the  sea.  No  tree-cut  messages  had  they 
seen;  but  they  had  heard  a  voice  that  bid  them  leave 
their  life  of  toil,  sharpen  their  knives  and  fasten  them 
to  long  poles,  —  a  voice  that  rang  with  earnestness, 
a  hand  that  made  a  secret  sign. 

And  they  had  come,  seeking  a  man  they  called 
"Little  Warrior."  They  had  found  him  by  the 
curved  rock  by  the  mountain  torrent,  found  and 
sworn  fealty  to  him. 

"How  are  we  provisioned?"  asked  the  first  of  the 
rugged  men  upon  the  ledge — Takagi  they  called  him. 


252     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

A  man  of  wealth  he  was,  owning  tea  plantations 
with  fifty  coolies  under  him.  But  his  tea  plantations 
were  idle,  his  coolies  now  bore  ax  and  club,  for  a 
soldier  of  the  Matsuyama  had  carried  off  his  only 
daughter,  and  the  Black  Boar  had  answered  his  plea 
for  justice  with  a  shower  of  arrows  from  the  palace 
gate.  Takagi  of  the  High  Castle  they  called  him, 
stout  from  a  life  of  ease  he  was,  with  the  light  of 
doubt  in  his  shifting  eyes.  Yet  he  had  read  the  writ- 
ing on  the  trees  and  had  come  to  serve  Rennoske, 
for  his  wrong  was  great. 

"Each  man  bears  a  bag  of  millet.  There  is  pulled 
and  dried  venison  from  the  mountains,  seventy 
sacks  of  bamboo  sprouts  and  ninety  of  rice,  not  to 
count  the  forage  we  may  gather  on  the  way." 

This  from  the  second  speaker,  a  broad-shouldered 
man  of  fifty.  The  Sorrowful  Father  they  called  him, 
and  well,  for  the  Matsuyama  had  lured  from  him 
his  only  son,  who  now  drank  deep  in  the  court  of  the 
Black  Boar,  throwing  away  his  heritage  for  a  geisha's 
song  and  a  robe  of  silk  in  the  dreadful  palace  of  the 
house  of  the  Mountain  of  Pines.  He  had  read  the 
sign  on  the  trees  —  for  vengeance  he  had  come  to 
join  the  man  they  called  "Little  Warrior." 

"How  many  do  we  number  now?"  asked 
Rennoske. 

"Eleven  hundred,  six  and  seventy,"  answered  the 
third  man. 


KNIGHTS  OF  THE  PURPLE  LOTUS    253 

A  dweller  in  the  mountains  was  he  —  one  Yuki- 
taka.  Older  than  the  rest,  some  sixty-odd.  No 
one  knew  from  whence  he  came  or  why,  for  he  dwelt 
high  among  the  snowy  peaks,  among  musty  Chinese 
books.  A  deep  thinker,  a  man  of  wisdom,  he  had 
seen  the  secret  sign  and  heard  the  earnest  voice, 
and  so  he  came,  for  he  loved  the  right. 

"How  are  we  to  march,  O  leader?"  he  asked. 

"I  bethought  me,"  Rennoske  answered,  "of  the 
road  through  the  mountains  to  the  west.  Here  we 
avoid  the  great  plains  where  our  army  would  be 
spread  out,  an  easy  target  for  archers'  arrows.  By 
the  narrow,  walled-in  road  I  would  take,  our  enemy 
must  needs  meet  us  face  to  face.  If  our  courage  fail 
us  not,  we  must,  by  force  of  numbers,  drive  them 
back." 

"There  is  room  for  much  speech  upon  that,  O 
leader,"  Takagi  spoke  up.  "The  road  to  the  east 
is  filled  with  many  villages,  while  that  to  the 
west  through  the  mountains  is  poorly  settled.  By 
this  we  will  gain  little,  while  by  the  other  will  we 
pick  up  many  men." 

"I  most  honorably  differ,  reverend  sir,"  replied 
Rennoske.  "The  east  country  I  have  been  through 
before  and  drawn  forth  many  faithful  followers. 
Did  not  I  meet  defeat?  Wherefore  should  we  go 
that  way?  Again,  most  of  those  who  are  now  with 
us  have  come  from  the  east  road,  so  we  will  gain 


254     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

naught  and  are  likely  to  lose  a  few  when  these  pass 
their  homes.  The  way  to  the  palace  is  shorter  to  the 
west,  the  road  harder.  Will  it  not  be  more  difficult 
for  the  armor-clad  soldiers  of  the  Matsuyama  to 
make  headway  than  for  us  who  are  lighter  equipped  ? 
Are  my  words  heard  and  thought  upon?" 

"Aye,  O  leader,"  said  Yukitaka,  "they  are  fraught 
with  much  wisdom,  as  becoming  thy  station.  I 
think,  brothers,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  other 
two,  "the  plans  of  our  leader  are  well  laid.  The 
west  road  is  the  better  way."  i 

"The  west  road  be  it  then,"  responded  Takagi. 
"So-ho  —  whom  have  we  here?" 

A  bare-legged  peasant  bent  before  them.  Ren- 
noske  recognized  in  him  one  of  the  men  he  had 
appointed  as  an  outpost. 

"What  news?"  he  demanded.  "Why  hast  thou 
come  so  fast  as  to  pant  now  like  a  breathed  hare? 
Rise  and  tell  us!" 

"O  leader,"  answered  the  man,  puffing,  "as  I  lay 
high  upon  the  overhanging  branch  of  a  cedar,  I  saw 
the  moonlight  gleam  upon  breastplates.  Long  I 
looked  and  carefully.  It  is  true,  leader,  a  band  of 
knights,  about  seventy  I  should  fancy,  march  this 
way  from  the  south.  They  come  slowly  —  I  came 
like  the  wind  —  yet  they  are  still  far  off.  'Twill  be 
dawn  at  least  ere  they  reach  us." 

"From  the  south?"  queried  Rennoske  strangely. 


KNIGHTS  OF  THE  PURPLE  LOTUS    255 

"Perhaps  another  body  comes  from  the  north," 
ventured  Yukitaka.  "They  might  seek  to  surround 
us.  Had  we  not  best  awake  the  men  and  be  ready?" 

"Nay,"  Rennoske  answered,  "let  the  men  sleep. 
They  would  not  attack  us  here,  we  up  the  mountain 
and  they  at  the  foot.  Should  the  courier  from  the 
north  come,  then  will  it  be  time  enough,  for  after  all, 
what  should  we  fear  from  seventy?  Let  the  men 
sleep.  I  myself  will  climb  upon  the  mountain  and 
watch." 

In  spite  of  the  protests  from  the  three  that  he, 
above  all,  needed  sleep,  Rennoske  threaded  his  way 
among  the  huddled  figures  on  the  zigzag  path  and 
along  the  smaller  path  to  the  tiny  plateau  where 
once  stood  the  house  of  Miyoshi  the  Farmer.  He 
watched  the  road  to  the  north — but  not  altogether. 
There  were  the  three  wells,  the  cherry  trees,  the 
garden  where  the  chrysanthemums  bloomed  in 
November.  How  strange  it  all  seemed  now! 

Where  was  the  gentle  voice  that  called  "Little 
Warrior"?  Where  the  feet  that  pattered  over  the 
matting?  Where  the  eyes  that  looked  so  tenderly 
into  his  at  his  words,  "Gentlest  Flower"?  Where 
was  Kiku  San? 

But  he  must  watch  the  road  to  the  north  —  he 
must  watch  the  road  to  the  south. 

The  first  streaks  of  the  dawn  revealed  them, 
coming  slowly  down  the  south  road.  Rennoske 


256    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

could  even  count  them  from  where  he  stood.  They 
marched  in  fours,  seventeen  of  these  groups,  making 
sixty-eight  knights,  for  knights  they  were,  plainly 
enough.  Even  at  that  distance  he  could  see  every 
shining  corselet,  every  jointed  apron  and  pointed- 
cornered  helmet.  One  of  the  first  four  carried  a 
banner  of  silk;  it  lay  against  its  pole,  motionless  in 
the  still  morning  air. 

Suddenly  a  breeze  sprang  up.  The  flag  fluttered, 
half  concealing  its  own  folds,  now  rolled  about  the 
pole,  then  flew  clear.  Rennoske  saw  that  which 
made  him  run  madly  down  the  slope,  crying: 

"Awake,  brothers !    Awake,  awake  and  welcome ! " 

The  men  sat  up,  staring  stupidly.  He  ran  to 
where  lay  the  three,  their  heads  pillowed  upon  their 
arms. 

"Rise,  Yukitaka!"  he  cried,  shaking  them  one  by 
one.  "Takagi,  bestir  thyself!  Open  thine  eyes, 
Sorrowful  Father,  and  look  upon  a  sight  that  is  rose- 
water  to  them  —  look  at  yonder  banner!" 

The  three  sprang  up  and  in  an  instant  were  follow- 
ing his  trembling  finger.  They  saw  the  yellow 
banner,  bearing  no  pine  tree  upon  a  mountaintop, 
the  hated  sign  of  the  Matsuyama,  but  the  purple 
lotus  of  their  neighboring  kingdom! 

"Gods!"  cried  Yukitaka;  "have  these  joined  with 
the  Matsuyama  against  us?" 

"We  are  ruined  then!"  the  Sorrowful  Father  cried. 


KNIGHTS  OF  THE  PURPLE  LOTUS    257 

"Nay,  what  need  we  fear  of  seventy  —  let  us  up 
and  at  them  —  to  arms  —  to  arms,  comrades!" 

"Hold,  Yukitaka,"  thundered  Rennoske;  "look 
you!"  The  vanguard  of  the  knights  was  near  now. 
"The  flagpole  is  draped  with  garlands.  They  come 
in  peace,  not  in  war.  See  —  they  halt  —  one  comes 
toward  us." 

On  the  mountainside  was  now  a  Babel  of  many 
voices,  angry  and  questioning.  Rennoske  and  the 
three  went  quickly  down  the  hill  to  meet  the  knight. 
The  armored  figure  halted  at  sight  of  them,  then,  as 
they  came  near,  drew  his  sword  and  laid  it  upon  the 
ground. 

"I  seek  the  man  they  call  Little  Warrior,"  he  said 
in  a  solemn  voice.  "Where  may  he  be  found?" 

"I  am  that  man,"  answered  Rennoske,  striding 
forward.  "  What  would  you  of  me  ?" 

The  man  bowed  low,  then  raised  his  hand. 

"Our  most  sublime,  most  noble  ruler,  O  Kotora, 
Daimyo  of  the  house  of  the  Purple  Lotus,  ruler  of 
Katsu  and  Nokodate,  the  two  states,  hath  sent 
me  with  these  eight  and  sixty  knights.  They  are  to 
be  at  your  command  in  this  your  war  against  the 
Matsuyama." 

Rennoske  stood  speechless. 

"Moreover,"  continued  the  soldier,  "he  sends  a 
suit  of  armor  of  bronze  and  gold,  a  sword  of  sharpest 
steel,  and  begs  you  will  wear  it  in  his  honor." 


258     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

At  the  words  two  soldiers,  one  bearing  the  breast- 
plate and  trappings,  the  other  the  sword  and  helmet, 
came  forth  from  the  ranks  and  laid  them  upon  the 
earth. 

"Who  hath  done  this?" 

The  fierce  tone  in  which  Rennoske's  words  were 
uttered  startled  the  soldier  and  the  three. 

"Who  hath  done  what?"  asked  the  knight. 

"This  —  this  —  this!"  cried  Rennoske,  stamping 
his  foot.  "The  Little  Tiger,  Daimyo  of  Katsu  and 
Nokodate,  gives  not  gifts  of  armor  and  men  like  rain 
from  the  skies.  Who  told  him  of  me?  Who  told 
him  I  made  war  upon  the  Matsuyama  ? " 

"I  saw  the  man  but  in  the  darkness,"  the  soldier 
answered,  "after  he  had  come  from  the  secret 
council-chamber  of  the  Daimyo.  I  asked  his  name, 
but  he  spake  not  truly,  for  he  bade  me  call  him  'the 
Man  with  the  Scar  upon  his  Breast.'  Then  he 
vanished  into  the  night  and  I  saw  him  no  more." 

Rennoske  clutched  wildly  at  the  air.  Then, 
collecting  himself,  he  turned  a  strange  face  upon  the 
knight. 

"I  most  humbly  accept  the  gift  of  Kotora,  Daimyo 
of  the  house  of  the  Purple  Lotus,  ruler  of  Katsu 
and  Nokodate,"  he  said  in  a  far-away  voice.  "We 
march  by  the  west  road  at  sunrise." 

The  vermilion  of  that  sunrise  sent  its  slanting  rays 
upon  the  mountainside.  Rennoske  had  seen  it  shine 


KNIGHTS  OF  THE  PURPLE  LOTUS    259 

thus  often  and  often,  but  never  had  it  disclosed 
such  a  sight  as  this!  The  peaceful  path  to  the  rice 
fields  now  bristled  with  knife,  club,  and  spear. 
Under  the  cherry  trees  men  passed  in  twos  and 
threes,  trampling  the  blackened  ashes  where  once 
stood  the  house  of  Miyoshi  the  Farmer.  Down  the 
path  they  swarmed,  the  zigzag  path,  where  the  tiny 
pebbles  fell  in  a  shower.  Down  the  path,  laughing, 
shouting,  and  singing.  The  word  was  given ! 

First  came  the  twenty  men  of  Boruku,  shoulder 
to  shoulder,  five  abreast,  with  white  bands  about 
their  heads.  Next  marched  the  Knights  of  the 
Purple  Lotus,  their  swords,  breastplates,  and  hel- 
mets gleaming.  In  their  wake  followed  Takagi 
and  his  fifty  coolies,  armed  with  the  ax  and  the 
long  knife. 

A  body  of  sturdy  mountaineers  were  next  in  line, 
for  weapons  their  long  shepherds'  crooks  with 
keen  knives  lashed  to  them,  the  Sorrowful  Father 
at  their  head.  Bands  of  fishers  and  farmers  came 
in  their  turn,  all  armed  rudely,  yet  with  something 
shining  in  their  faces  that  showed  deathless  deter- 
mination. Yukitaka  led  them. 

Rennoske  turned  for  an  instant  and  looked  toward 
the  mountain.  The  sunlight  blazed  upon  its  green 
and  gray. 

" Saianara,  O  mountain,"  he  murmured.  "Thy 
son  goes  forth.  Let  my  feet  be  as  swift  as  thy 


260    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

stream.  Let  me  stand  firm  as  thy  rocks.  Like 
thy  avalanche,  let  me  sweep  away  my  foe.  For  the 
land  of  my  birth,  for  the  poor  oppressed  who  trust 
and  follow  me,  for  thee,  O  Kiku  San,  wherever  thou 
art,  I  go!" 

He  walked  to  the  head  of  a  band  of  broadax-armed 
woodmen,  who,  brown-legged  and  brown-clad,  waited 
to  bring  up  the  rear  of  the  army  which  tramped 
ahead.  His  fingers  closed  affectionately  about  his 
sword-hilt.  He  raised  the  weapon  on  high. 

"Forward!"   he  cried. 

And  so  along  the  road  past  the  towering  moun- 
tain, along  the  bank  of  the  rushing  stream,  by  the 
trees  of  the  forest  where  the  birds  sang  they  marched, 
the  army  of  the  man  they  called  "Little  Warrior." 
Woodmen,  fishermen,  sailors,  tea-pickers,  coolies, 
and  mountaineers,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  under  the 
one  banner,  with  the  same  world-old  desire  of  liberty. 

Well  had  the  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees  written. 
Well  had  spoken  the  Man  with  the  Scar  upon  his 
Breast.  Onward  the  army  of  Rennoske  moved,  to 
regain  a  throne  he  did  not  know  was  his. 

Onward  they  marched  —  eleven  hundred  and 
seventy-six  of  them. 


Chapter  XXI 
The  Shadow  of  a  Pine  *Tree 

HOW  numbers  our  host  now,  0  Takagi?" 
Rennoske  asked  the  question,  standing 
in  the  shade  of  a  fantastic  fir  that  grew 
straight  from  two  black  rocks  at  the  head  of  a 
narrow  ravine. 

"Two  thousand  and  twenty,  O  leader,"  answered 
the  tea-planter.  "This  counting  the  eighteen  slain 
in  the  engagement  with  the  Matsuyama  horsemen 
that  fell  upon  our  flank  yestere'en." 

"We  have  gained,  then,  seven  hundred  four 
and  ninety  even  in  this  rude  country  and  lost 
but  eighteen,"  replied  Rennoske.  "What  of  the 
horsemen?  I  saw  not  the  fight,  having  stayed 
behind  with  my  woodmen  in  the  Village  of  the 
Two  Crags." 

"The  news  is  good,  O  leader,"  Takagi  responded. 
"Ten  of  the  men  were  slain,  while  some  ten  more 
fled  wounded  upon  the  horses  of  the  others,  so  we 
have  sixteen  of  the  beasts  living,  with  twice  as  many 
captured  swords,  helmets,  and  lances." 


262     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"It  is  well.  Which  way  fled  they  —  through 
the  pass?" 

"Nay,  over  the  crest  of  the  hills  to  our  right. 
The  shepherd  we  questioned  this  morning  tells  us 
there  is  but  room  for  two  abreast  in  the  center  of 
the  pass.  The  way  is  stony  and  steep  and  will  not 
warrant  the  passing  of  a  pony." 

"So,"  replied  Rennoske,  his  lip  between  thumb 
and  forefinger.  "See  that  the  men  are  well  fed. 
We  go  upon  a  long,  fast  march  at  dawn.  The 
mountain  path,  as  thou  already  knowest,  leads  to 
the  great  plain  behind  the  palace.  Coming  out 
suddenly  upon  it,  as  we  should  ere  noon,  it  is  but 
another  two  days'  march  to  the  home  of  our 
enemies.  From  the  poor  opposition  we  have  met 
and  the  report  of  our  spies,  it  is  easily  seen  the 
Matsuyama  expect  us  by  the  east  road  and  have 
drawn  up  their  forces  there  to  meet  us." 

"Yet  methinks,  O  leader,"  said  the  Sorrowful 
Father,  who  had  come  up,  "that  the  wily  baron 
will  turn  again  to  the  plain,  as  we  come  from  yonder 
mountain  pass.  He  will  have  ample  time." 

"Time,  yes,"  answered  Rennoske.  "But  there  is 
a  river  between  him  and  us.  They  cannot  cross  it 
in  time  to  cut  us  in  two  ere  we  surround  the  palace 
grounds  still  further  westward." 

With  a  smile  Rennoske  strode  toward  his  wood- 
men, who  were  making  their  camp  in  a  ragged  grove 


SHADOW    OF    A    PINE-TREE      263 

of  firs,  in  the  shadow  of  the  cliff  that  towered  above 
them.  The  Sorrowful  Father  and  Takagi  exchanged 
glances. 

"'Tis  a  wise  head  he  hath  on  such  young 
shoulders,"  said  the  former.  "His  parentage  must 
be  high,  or  he  comes  from  the  gods  themselves,  for 
in  the  fifty  years  of  my  life  such  keen  powers  of 
reason  I  have  not  seen." 

"Aye,"  answered  Takagi  significantly,  "but  what 
the  gods  give  they  take  away." 

"What  mean  you,  Takagi?"  asked  the  Sorrowful 
Father.  "It  is  not  good  to  speak  so.  Dost  thou 
mean  defeat  will  follow?" 

"Softly,"  Takagi  replied.  "I  mean  not  that. 
The  mind  of  the  Little  Warrior  is  great,  greater  than 
any  I  have  seen;  but  though  his  intellect  shines 
with  the  light  of  noonday,  it  fades  anon  into  night. 
He  hath  a  strange  sickness  that  comes  upon  him 
wherein  he  stares  at  naught  and  knows  naught. 

"For  a  moon  have  I  been  in  his  company,  but 
I  have  not  seen  him  so.  Some  of  those  who  were 
with  him  before  saw  him  so  upon  the  bloody  field 
of  Hachinohe.  They,  in  their  simple  hearts,  declare 
he  sees  and  talks  with  a  dead  man  who  watches 
o'er  him  and  gives  him  knowledge  supernatural  that 
he  uses  when  right  again.  I  cannot  tell  these  things 
—  they  are  beyond  me.  Yet  I  hope  he  acts  not  so 
upon  the  day  of  battle." 


264     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"And  I,"  answered  the  Sorrowful  Father,  "for 
then  shall  it  be  in  our  hands.  Shall  we  fail  him, 
OTakagi?" 

"We  have  gone  too  far,"  the  other  smilingly 
replied. 

He  put  a  finger  on  his  lips,  for  the  voice  of  Ren- 
noske  was  borne  to  their  ears.  They  looked  up  to 
see  him,  clanking  in  his  armor,  walking  with  old 
Yukitaka  toward  them. 

"The  spirit  spoke  of  victory,"  they  heard  him  say. 
"All  shall  be  well." 

With  a  still  deeper  bow  of  obeisance,  they  wel- 
comed him  under  the  now  black  shadow  of  the 
jutting  fir  tree. 

"Look  you,  O  my  brother-in-arms,"  he  cried 
ecstatically.  "Is  this  not  a  sight  to  surpass  dancing 
geishas  under  the  wistaria?" 

With  a  sweep  of  his  mail-clad  arm  he  took  in  the 
V-shaped  space  between  the  mountains.  The  heights 
rose  clear,  the  precipitous  slopes  in  purple  shadow, 
except  where  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  made 
a  golden  triangle  near  the  top,  as  the  light  filtered 
through  the  two  higher  peaks,  above  and  behind 
them. 

Many  streaks  of  thin,  blue  smoke  rose  upward 
from  many  camp-fires,  the  reddening  embers  casting 
a  soft  glow  on  bronzed,  moving  legs,  on  the  black, 
gray,  blue,  and  brown  of  the  hara-gakkes  of  the 


SHADOW    OF    A    PINE-TREE     265 

squatting  ones,  on  the  piles  of  bristling  spears,  the 
heaps  of  shining  axes. 

And  the  sound  of  it!  The  clatter  of  pots  and 
pans,  the  sizzling  of  meat  roasting  on  the  coals. 
The  laughter,  the  good-natured  jibes,  the  full- 
mouthed,  smothered  guffaws.  All  was  a  happy, 
grinning,  clattering,  crackling,  chattering  jumble 
of  sound  and  color! 

Something  stirred  within  the  soul  of  Rennoske 
as  he  watched.  What  could  he  do  to  stir  the 
spirit  of  these  men  whom  he  had  seen  ever  peace- 
ful in  their  toy  houses  with  the  toy  gardens  at  the 
back? 

The  fishers,  with  their  cormorants  diving  and 
squawking  in  the  torchlit  water.  The  woodmen 
with  the  ringing  sound  of  their  axes  in  the  forest 
while  their  straw-sandaled  feet  crushed  the  sweet 
perfume  from  the  carpet  of  pine  needles  below  them. 
The  shepherds,  who  dwelt  the  long  day  with  their 
flocks  upon  the  mountainsides,  while  they  piped 
quaint  tunes  on  flutes  of  reeds.  The  farmers,  whose 
fingers  pulled  the  green  stalks  of  the  rice  plants 
out  of  the  cool  water.  The  sailors,  the  charcoal- 
burners  —  men  of  the  sea  and  dwellers  close  to  the 
earth,  kin  to  it. 

"Men  of  the  Land  of  the  Rising  Sun!"  his  voice 
rang  out,  echoing  from  rock  to  rock. 

The  peasants  stopped  their  chatter. 


266    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Look  ye  upon  yonder  crag!  What  do  ye  see? 
A  single  pine-tree  upon  a  peak.  Look  at  my  feet. 
It  casts  its  shadow  there.  Look  upon  yourselves. 
Its  spreading  branches  cast  a  shadow  upon  ye  all. 
Of  what  is  it  the  symbol?" 

A  snarling  roar  came  back  from  two  thousand 
throats:  "The  Matsuyama!" 

"Shall  it  cast  its  shadow  upon  us?" 

"Down  with  it!"   two  thousand  voices  thundered. 

There  was  a  swift  rush,  like  horses  into  a  fire,  a 
running  into  danger,  that  was  terrible.  The  crag, 
or  sort  of  peak  it  was,  rose  straight  up  to  a  height 
of  some  three  hundred  feet. 

The  sides  of  it  were  little  better  than  perpendicu- 
lar, with  a  spiral  path,  probably  made  there  by 
goats  in  their  spring  search  for  tender  green  things. 
In  shape  the  whole  mass  was  a  rugged  and  ridged 
cone,  with  the  offending  tree  on  its  top,  like  a  feather 
on  the  top  of  a  sugar-loaf  hat. 

The  men  of  Boruku  were  the  first  to  come  upon 
the  path  and  made  to  climb  it  at  a  run.  But  the 
mountaineers  caught  them  by  the  ankles  and  held 
them  fast,  while  some  of  their  fellows  climbed  up 
the  treacherous  sides,  hand  over  hand,  like  sailors 
up  a  rope. 

A  great  shout  went  up  from  the  men  of  Boruku. 
One  of  their  number  had  wormed  himself  away 
from  the  good-natured  grasp  and  now,  like  a  brown 


SHADOW    OF    A    PINE-TREE      267 

bear,  partly  on  hands  and  partly  on  feet,  went 
scurrying  upward. 

"Luru!     Luru!"   shrieked  the  woodmen. 

An  ax  in  his  sash,  a  broad-shouldered,  long- 
armed  fellow  of  their  clan  had  essayed  to  climb  the 
north  side  of  the  slope,  where  the  way  was  steepest. 
He  reached  up,  caught  hold  of  a  jutting  stone  in 
his  great,  pawlike  hand  and,  like  an  acrobat  on  a 
horizontal  bar,  drew  his  body  after  him. 

Never  pausing,  he  thrust  up  another  arm,  seized 
another  rock,  and  up  he  went.  In  the  space  of  a 
few  minutes  he  had  beaten  all  in  the  dizzy  race. 

"Crawl!  Crawl!  Bide  by  the  path!"  shouted 
the  ten  men  of  Boruku  to  the  other  ten  that  were 
now  half-way  up  the  slope. 

"Dig  feet  into  the  earth!"  roared  the  moun- 
taineers. "The  earth  yields." 

"Follow  Luru!  We  do  what  he  does!"  came  in 
shrill  tones  from  the  woodmen.  Soon  the  whole 
north  side  was  black  with  them,  climbing  up  like 
great  apes. 

Rennoske  and  the  three  stood  spellbound  at  the 
daring  sight.  Had  the  topmost  woodman  fallen,  he 
would  have  wiped  the  rugged  sides  of  the  cone  clean 
of  the  clinging  figures,  so  steep  was  the  ascent. 

"We  gain  the  top!"    cried  the  men  of  Boruku. 

"We  gain  the  top!"  echoed  the  woodmen  and  the 
mountaineers. 


268     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

The  fishermen  had  indeed  come  upon  the  tree  at 
its  dizzy  height  first,  but  they  could  do  nothing 
but  pull  frantically  at  its  branches.  They  and  the 
mountaineers,  seeing  how  useless  their  efforts,  waited 
for  the  woodmen,  who  soon  clambered  up. 

Now  the  tree  was  lost,  surrounded  by  some  fifty 
men,  where  there  was  room  for  no  more  than  forty. 
But  the  steady  chop,  chop  of  the  axes  rang  out 
swift  and  steady. 

The  snarl  of  hate  was  borne  down  on  the  evening 
breeze  to  be  answered  by  snarl  of  hate  from  those 
below. 

Crash,  crash,  crash  sounded  the  axes  of  the  wood- 
men. 

The  treetop  trembled.  It  swayed  while  the 
crowd  parted  to  let  it  go.  With  a  shriek  of 
twisted  and  rent  wood  it  swayed  and  writhed, 
then,  thrust  over  by  many  hands,  plunged  down, 
down,  turning  over  and  over  in  its  whirling  de- 
scent, and  with  a  thud  fell  into  the  blackness  of 
the  ravine  below! 

" Hei-ei-ei!"  What  a  shout!  It  echoed  and 
re-echoed  among  the  rocks,  rising  up  and  up. 
Rennoske  caught  the  spirit.  He  drew  his  sword 
and  waved  it  high. 

"Thus  shall  it  be  with  the  Matsuyama!"  he 
cried. 

"Thus  shall  it  be  with  the  Matsuyama!"    they 


SHADOW    OF    A    PINE-TREE     269 

repeated.  "Long  live  Little  Warrior!  Long  live 
our  prince!" 

Rennoske  shivered  at  the  words,  and  with  bowed 
head  he  turned  and  walked  toward  where  the  three 
were  standing  under  the  jutting  fir  tree,  while  the 
shouts  rang  ever  behind  him. 

"A  good  omen,  0  leader,"  remarked  Yukitaka. 
"The  pine  tree  no  longer  shadows  us." 

"A  good  trick,  too,"  Takagi  chimed  in.  "This 
sets  their  blood  at  boiling-point.  Would  that  we 
could  meet  the  host  of  the  Matsuyama  on  the 
morrow." 

"What  meanest  thou  by  a  trick?"  asked  Ren- 
noske oddly.  "Dost  thou  think  I  fed  their  minds 
with  this?" 

"With  what,  O  leader?"  answered  Takagi, 
amazed. 

"Thou  heardst  the  name  they  gave  me?" 

"What  name?" 

Takagi  was  puzzled,  Yukitaka  caught  the  Sorrow- 
ful Father  by  the  arm,  unnerved  by  the  young  man's 
fierce  manner. 

"Didst  thou  not  hear?"  Rennoske  went  on. 
"They  called  me  their  prince." 

"And  what  of  that,  O  leader?"  replied  the  tea- 
planter.  "What  is  there  in  that  speech  so  to  unman 
you?  Their  prince  you  are,  and  ours." 

"I  will   not  have  it  so,"   the  young  man   cried. 


270    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"  Is  it  for  this  I  brought  these  men  from  their  homes  ? 
Thou  knowest  it  is  not  so,  O  Takagi.  To  relieve 
them  from  oppression;  to  put  a  curb  upon  the  reign 
of  the  Black  Boar;  to  be  their  prince?  Nay,  it 
no  more  occurred  to  me  than  to  think  to  fly  over 
yonder  mountain.  Prince  —  I?  The  son  of  Miyoshi 
the  Farmer?  Thou  speakest  wildly,  O  Takagi!" 

Takagi,  encouraged  by  the  glances  of  the  other 
two,  spoke  boldly  on: 

"Not  wildly.  It  is  you  who  tend  to  wildness 
in  saying  we  are  but  to  curb  the  Matsuyama.  As 
well  might  we  strive  to  dam  the  mountain  torrent 
with  shoots  of  young  bamboo! 

"Who  curbs  the  rushing  of  the  black  boar  as  he 
rushes  red-tusked  among  the  flying  fawns?  Curb 
him?  We  had  best  slay  him,  and  then  he  forages 
no  more.  You  the  prince  ?  —  and  wherefore  not  ? 
Who  more  capable  to  govern?  Who  more  wise, 
more  beloved?" 

Rennoske  paused.  The  three  saw  it  was  with  an 
effort  that  he  spoke.  His  chest  rose  and  fell,  his 
eyes  were  wet  as  he  answered  slowly: 

"To  you,  the  companions  of  my  heart,  I  say  — 
and  by  no  other  living  men  would  the  words  be 
heard  —  I  say  I  am  not  fit  to  rule." 

"Not  fit?"  the  three  echoed. 

"Nay  —  you  forget  the  mark  upon  my  brain  — 
you  forget  my  sickness.  The  prince  ?  Aye  —  and 


SHADOW    OF    A    PINE-TREE      271 

*  Prince  Imbecile'  they  shall  call  me."  He  stopped, 
looking  from  one  to  the  other.  "Not  I!  Better 
Yukitaka  here  for  wisdom,  Takagi  for  courage, 
or  the  Sorrowful  Father  for  justice.  Not  I,  of  all 
men!" 

"Nay,  not  I,"  cried  Takagi  quickly. 

"Let  the  young  blood  rule,"  said  the  Sorrowful 
Father  after  him. 

But  Yukitaka  caught  their  eye.  The  light  was 
faint,  the  other  two  could  hardly  see  him;  but 
they  saw  the  long-nailed,  bony  finger  he  laid  upon 
his  lips  and  the  sly  twinkle  in  his  narrow  eyes. 

Rennoske  stood  there  for  many  moments,  uncon- 
scious of  everything  but  the  turmoil  within  him. 
Then  he  found  himself  watching  a  tiny  spot  of  light 
that  swung  in  semicircles  toward  him.  He  saw,  as 
it  came  nearer,  that  it  was  a  man  bearing  aloft  a 
torch,  and  behind  him  another  man  stalked. 

The  second  man  spoke  to  the  torch-bearer,  then 
stopped,  while  the  man  with  the  light  came  on. 
Rennoske  recognized  him  as  one  of  his  woodmen  as 
he  came  into  his  presence.  The  man  bowed  low. 

"There  comes  one  to  crave  an  audience  with  you, 
O  leader,"  he  said.  "There  is  that  in  his  eyes  that 
made  me  think  he  should  see  you." 

"What  does  he  call  himself?"  asked  Rennoske, 
still  in  a  dream  of  a  future  hope. 

"He  gave  me  no  name,"  the  man  replied,  "but 


272     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

bade  me  say  to  you  that  he  was  —  the  Man  with 
the  Scar  upon  his  Breast." 

"Takagi,  Yukitaka,  Sorrowful  Father!"  cried 
Rennoske  in  a  sudden  frenzy.  "He  has  come  — 
he  who  placed  me  where  I  am.  Stand  near,  I  pray, 
lest  the  sight  of  him  unnerve  me." 

Rennoske  watched  the  torch  dwindle  away, — saw 
it  pause,  whirl,  and  then  grow  brighter  and  brighter 
on  its  way  back  again.  He  watched  it  as  if  it  were 
a  floating  lamp  upon  the  sea  of  uncertainty.  Now 
it  was  near  him;  but  the  torch-bearer  came  before, 
the  other  man  stalking  in  his  shadow. 

The  torch-bearer  came  on.  He  stood  at  the  side 
of  Rennoske.  The  light  sputtered  as  the  man  came 
into  the  circle  of  its  brightness.  The  newcomer 
spoke  as  he  came  up,  distinct,  heavy,  and  of  great 
volume  was  his  voice. 

"I  am  the  Man  with  the  Scar  upon  his  Breast." 

The  light  of  the  torch  shone  upon  the  face  of 
Osaki,  the  seal-hunter,  suitor  of  Kiku  San! 


Chapter  XXII 
The  Man  with  the  Scar 

I  GIVE  thee  greeting,  O  Little  Warrior,"  said 
the  seal-hunter  with  the  suavest  tone  and 
most  profound  bow. 

"Thou  —  thou  —  Osaki?"  cried  Rennoske  in  a 
choking  voice.  "Forbear!  Why  comest  thou  in 
another's  name  with  thy  challenge?  Beware  —  I 
stand  with  thousands  at  my  back!  One  little  word 
and  thou  wouldst  be  in  as  many  pieces  as  there 
are  leaves  upon  the  maple.  It  is  now  no  time  for 
private  brawling,  Osaki." 

"For  private  brawling  I  come  not,  O  leader," 
the  seal-hunter  answered  calmly.  "Moreover,  men 
no  longer  call  me  Osaki.  I  am  the  Man  with  the 
Scar  upon  his  Breast." 

"To  that  name  I  owe  many  things,"  responded 
Rennoske,  regaining  his  composure.  "But  between 
the  man  they  call  Little  Warrior  and  the  man  they 
have  called  Osaki,  hunter  of  the  seal,  there  is  bad 
blood  and  a  threat  of  death.  How  can  I,  then, 
bow  before  one  and  hold  ill-feeling  toward  the 
other?  Thou  speakest  in  riddles." 


274    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"The  riddle  is  solved  in  Osaki's  death.  I  am 
come  from  the  ashes  of  myself.  Osaki's  challenge 
fades  with  the  cherry  blossoms  of  spring.  His  words 
are  blown  hither  and  thither  like  their  pink  petals." 

"And  canst  thou  prove  thy  speech?"  Rennoske 
asked,  thinking  the  seal-hunter's  tame  withdrawal 
unlike  the  former  fiery  spirit  of  its  owner. 

"Aye,"  Osaki  answered  firmly.  "Call  the  twenty 
men  of  Boruku.  Call  the  captain  of  the  eight  and 
sixty  Knights  of  the  Purple  Lotus.  Or  easier  — 
Yukitaka  —  hast  thou  seen  this  face  before?" 

The  old  scholar  took  the  torch  from  where  it  had 
been  stuck  into  the  ground,  walked  over,  and  held 
it  before  the  seal-hunter's  face.  He  peered  long 
and  hard  into  the  frank  eyes.  Then  the  torch  was 
lowered.  He  turned  to  Rennoske. 

"It  is  even  he,  O  leader,"  he  said  slowly.  "It  is 
he  who  came  to  me  in  my  mountain  cave  and  told 
me  a  wondrous  tale  of  thee.  He  is  the  bearer  of  the 
secret  signal  —  the  one  who  called  himself  the  Man 
with  the  Scar  upon  his  Breast." 

Osaki  smiled  his  old,  insolent  smile. 

"Do  you  believe  now,  Little  Warrior?"  he  said, 
slowly  fanning  himself. 

"The  word  of  Yukitaka  is  sacred,"  Rennoske 
replied.  "Yet  the  riddle  is  not  solved." 

"I  crave  your  patience.  Let  my  deeds  stand  only 
upon  their  completion.  Let  me  say  that  it  is  not 


THE    MAN    WITH    THE    SCAR     275 

for  love  I  do  them  —  but  for  a  greater  reason. 
When  I  have  done  more,  then  shall  I  speak." 

"But  why  thy  new  name,  O  Hunter  of  the  Seal?" 

"Truly  it  is  simple.  I  wore  about  my  neck  a 
chain  on  which  was  a  rare  foreign  jewel  which  hung 
upon  my  breast.  When  I  lay  on  my  back  upon  the 
matting,  your  knee  upon  my  chest,  the  sharp  edge 
of  this  stone  sank  deep  into  my  flesh.  Thus  do  I 
take  my  name  from  the  scar  of  it." 

Rennoske  knew,  in  the  light  of  the  torch  that 
then  suddenly  blazed  up  and  shone  in  Osaki's  eyes, 
that  the  scar  was  deeper  than  he  said.  What  was 
behind  it  all? 

"What  deeds  are  yet  to  do,  my  enemy  —  and 
friend?"  he  asked  aloud. 

Osaki  fanned  himself  slowly  a  moment  before 
replying. 

"Many,  O  Little  Warrior.  Let  Yukitaka  and 
these  others  gather  about  me  so  that  none  but  us 
may  hear.  So !  Know,  then,  that  I  would  save  the 
army  from  an  ambush!" 

"Ambush!"  whispered  Rennoske  and  the  three 
together. 

"Aye,"  went  on  the  seal-hunter.  The  lines  of 
anxiety  on  his  face  showed  deeply  in  the  light  of 
the  torch  upon  the  ground. 

"Ye  think  the  soldiers  of  the  Matsuyama  lie 
upon  the  east  bank  of  the  Obigawa.  Many  do,  in 


276     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

truth,  as  your  spies  have  told.  But  the  eyes  of  the 
baron  are  many;  they  know  you  mean  to  enter 
yonder  pass.  Thither  have  his  soldiers  marched. 

"They  now  lie  hidden  behind  great  rocks  and 
boulders  on  both  sides  of  the  ravine.  It  is  their  aim 
to  let  the  men  of  Boruku,  the  Knights  of  the  Purple 
Lotus,  the  farmers,  and  the  fishers,  pass  through, 
then  to  fall  upon  the  woodmen,  who  are  less  experi- 
enced and  poorly  armed. 

"They,  hemmed  in,  will  be  slaughtered  and  the 
leader  of  you  all  slain.  Then  will  they  turn  upon 
the  others  and  the  armored  knights,  crying  out  that 
the  Little  Warrior  is  dead,  demoralizing  them  and 
driving  the  armored  men  back  and  separating  them 
from  the  main  body.  It  is  you  alone  they  seek, 
Little  Warrior.  No  matter  how  you  enter,  they 
will  lie  in  wait  till  you  appear.  Then  will  they 
strike!" 

"Devilish!"   cried  Takagi. 

"O  fiend  of  the  Mountain  of  Pines!"  said  the 
Sorrowful  Father. 

"Like  the  fox  that  he  is,"  chimed  in  Yukitaka. 

Yet,  through  it  all,  Rennoske  heard  a  single  sen- 
tence boom  in  his  ears,  a  single  sentence  spoken 
by  this  same  voice:  "Should  it  ever  happen  that 
my  fingers  were  about  your  throat,  I  fear  I  should 
be  honorably  obliged  to  press  quite  hard  —  aye  — 
even  to  slay  you." 


THE    MAN    WITH    THE    SCAR     277 

It  was  the  voice  of  this  same  man  Osaki  upon  the 
night  he  was  to  wed  Kiku  San.  Here  then  was  a 
fine  opportunity  for  his  revenge! 

Rennoske's  voice  came  icy  cold  to  the  ears  of 
Osaki  and  the  three: 

"How  know  we  that  thou  speakest  the  truth, 
Osaki?  How  know  we  that  the  army  of  the  Matsu- 
yama  are  not  even  now  ahead  and  behind  us? 
Should  we  take  the  pass,  might  we  not  find  our- 
selves surrounded  by  our  enemy  on  all  sides?  Fail- 
ing to  enter  the  pass,  might  we  not  give  them  time 
to  gather  their  forces  upon  the  plain  and  so  march 
against  us?" 

Again  came  Osaki's  insolent  smile. 

"I  see  you  still  mistrust  me,"  he  answered  in 
his  suave  voice.  "I  see  you  forget  not  that  I  once 
threatened  you  with  death,  though  I  have  with- 
drawn my  word.  It  is  well  so.  Listen,  then,  to 
my  plan. 

"Let  the  twenty  men  of  Boruku  go  at  dawn 
through  the  pass,  with  myself  at  their  head.  The 
Matsuyama  will  see  me,  for  you  shall  lend  me  the 
armor  that  you  wear.  It  is  you  that  they  seek,  as 
I  said.  What  will  it  be  but  the  loss  of  twenty  and 
myself  to  prove  I  speak  the  truth  ? 

"  From  yonder  crag  the  pass  can  be  seen.  Watch 
you  there.  If  the  black-armored  knights  of  the 
Matsuyama  fall  not  upon  us,  then  will  mine  own 


278     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

hand  cut  out  my  entrails  with  my  sword.  Is  it 
enough?" 

Rennoske  stood  silent,  legs  apart,  head  bowed, 
lip  between  thumb  and  forefinger. 

"It  shall  be  as  thou  sayest,"  he  answered,  "O 
Man  with  the  Scar  upon  his  Breast." 

"Quickly,  quickly!"  Rennoske  cried,  as  the  tall 
figure  of  the  seal-hunter  stalked  from  them  among 
the  sleeping  figures  in  the  faint  light  of  a  misty 
moon.  "Yukitaka,  Sorrowful  Father,  Takagi! 
There  is  work  for  us  to-night!" 

The  three  gathered  close  about  him,  for  he  spoke 
in  a  soft  voice. 

"Listen,  ye  who  are  my  brothers.  This  man 
has  always  been  mine  enemy.  The  reasons  matter 
not.  His  talk  sounds  fair  indeed,  yet  he  may  play 
me  false.  A  plan  comes  to  me  whereby  we  may 
be  safe  either  way. 

"If  the  Matsuyama  are  hidden  as  he  says,  half- 
way up  the  pass,  they  must  be  close  to  the  way  we 
would  come  by.  Suppose  we  climbed  the  mountains 
on  this  end  from  both  sides?  Would  we  not  be 
above  and  behind  them? 

"If  Osaki  plays  us  false,  it  will  be  an  easy  mat- 
ter to  fall  upon  him.  Yet  perchance  the  seal- 
hunter  tells  the  truth.  The  Matsuyama  will  attack 
him  and  the  men  of  Boruku.  Could  we  not  fall 


THE    MAN    WITH    THE    SCAR     279 

upon  them  from  behind,  driving  them  into  each 
other,  tumbling  upon  the  rocks?  Thus  would 
the  ambushers  be  ambushed.  Do  I  speak  with 
reason  ? " 

Yukitaka  alone  found  his  voice. 

"The  divine  light  of  the  gods  themselves  shines 
upon  your  mind.  Heaven  blessed  you  are  —  a 
thousand  times!" 

Rennoske  ignored  the  praise;  his  brain  throbbed 
with  action. 

"Thou,  Takagi,"  he  commanded,  still  in  a  whisper, 
"lead  thou  the  farmers  and  the  fishers  up  the  right 
slope.  Travel  quickly  but  softly.  See  yonder  peak 
that  shows  velvet-black.  Halt  there.  Sorrowful 
Father!" 

"Here,  O  leader!" 

"Take  thou  the  mountaineers  and  the  woodmen 
up  the  left  slope.  The  way  is  hard  and  stony.  Yet 
they  are  surefooted  and  slow.  Halt  opposite  where 
Takagi  stays.  Thou  understandest?" 

"Well,  O  leader." 

"My  signal  shall  be  my  waved  sash  from  the 
crag  where  the  pine  tree  stood.  Thou  canst  see 
plainly  —  nay,  we  will  light  a  fire.  The  smoke 
rising  blue  shall  be  the  signal.  Then  swoop  down 
upon  them  like  the  hawk  —  drive  them  before  you 
like  swine!  Brothers-in-arms,  the  fate  of  the  Matsu- 
yama  is  in  thy  hands!" 


280    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"At  dawn,  then,  we  shall  move  up  the  mountain?" 
questioned  Takagi. 

"At  dawn!"  cried  Rennoske.  "Nay,  at  dawn 
ye  shall  be  there.  Now  —  now  —  now!  Move 
quickly  —  move  softly!  At  dawn  thou  must  watch 
the  crag  where  stood  the  pine  tree.  At  the  first 
puff  of  smoke  —  strike!  If  we  meet  not  again,  O 
my  brothers  —  Saianara,  I  salute  you!" 

"  Saianara,  we  salute  you,"  answered  Takagi  and 
the  Sorrowful  Father.  They  turned  and  walked 
out  of  the  red,  flickering  circle  of  light  cast  by  the 
torch  on  the  ground. 


Chapter  XXIII 

Like  Black  Ants  and  Brown 

ALIGHT  drizzle  of  rain  fell  upon  Yukitaka 
and  Rennoske  as  they  lay  upon  the  crest 
of  the  peak,  eyes  riveted  on  the  east.  The 
first  faint  gray  had  just  illumined  the  sky,  yet  there 
was  hardly  enough  light  for  the  scene  below  to  be 
revealed  to  them. 

There  was  a  rustling  of  dry  leaves.  The  young 
man  knew  it  to  be  his  companion  piling  high  the  fuel 
for  the  fire.  The  light  grew  until,  faintly  outlined 
against  it,  the  mountains  showed  a  black  and  jagged 
jumble.  Slowly  their  crags  and  boulders  came  into 
view.  Slowly  the  ravine  became  distinguishable. 

Not  a  moving  thing  was  seen  upon  the  long  and 
narrow  panorama.  Rennoske  sat  upon  his  haunches 
watching  and  watching.  And  now,  plainly  seen, 
the  narrow  way  between  the  walls  caught  the  rain- 
filtered  light,  while  the  rain-polished  rocks  threw 
it  back  again  in  a  weird  effect.  Rennoske  still 
watched  the  entrance.  Then  he  saw  them. 

How  boldly  they  walked,  these  men  of  Boruku, 


282     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

the  white  bands  about  their  heads  showing  tiny 
specks  against  the  gray.  Four  abreast  they  entered 
between  the  walls,  like  minnows  into  the  open  jaws 
of  a  shark.  And  at  their  head,  the  armor  glistening, 
walked  the  boldest  of  all  —  Osaki! 

How  could  he  doubt  him?  There  could  be  no 
sham  there  in  those  straight  shoulders,  that  deter- 
mined stride.  Yet  he  must  watch,  watch,  watch! 

Fainter  and  fainter  grew  the  bands  of  white;  on- 
ward they  went  between  the  dark  shadow  of  the 
mountain  walls,  the  armored  figure  at  their  head. 
Rennoske  saw  Osaki  turn,  his  face  but  a  pin  point 
of  brown  against  the  shadow.  He  saw  the  fisher- 
men change  from  four  abreast  to  two.  Osaki's 
sword  now  waved  in  the  air  as  if  he  were  motioning 
his  followers  forward. 

No,  he  was  doing  more  than  that.  Like  some 
tinkling  of  memory,  a  sound  came  to  him,  hurled 
from  rock  to  rock,  borne  upward  on  the  misty 
wind.  Osaki  had  shouted  something  —  a  command 
—  what  could  it  mean? 

Rennoske  must  now  half  close  his  lids  and  peer 
out,  searching  the  depths  of  that  narrow  defile,  for 
the  men  of  Boruku  marched  quickly.  At  every  step 
they  moved  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  shadow. 

What  was  that?  Black  and  shining,  it  moved 
among  the  rocks.  He  watched  it,  but  could  not  tell 
what  it  was.  Following  it,  other  black,  shining  things 


BLACK    ANTS    AND    BROWN      283 

sprang  up  from  behind  the  boulders,  out  of  cracks 
and  crevices,  till  the  pass  was  filled  with  them. 

At  the  other  side  of  the  ravine  his  eye  was  caught 
by  more  black  things  that  popped  up  like  jack-in- 
the-boxes  that  a  gnome's  child  might  play  with. 
He  saw  a  sword  waved,  heard  a  faint  shout,  and 
the  black  things  seemed  to  crawl  like  black  ants, 
downward  on  both  sides.  Like  the  coats  of  black 
beetles  the  armor  shone.  The  ants  now  flashed 
forth  something  silver  gray. 

And  now  black  swarm  and  white-topped  min- 
nows came  together.  The  silver-gray  things  circled, 
swept,  flashed  high,  and  circled  again. 

Thus  it  appeared  to  Rennoske,  upon  the  top  of 
the  peak,  as  he  looked  down. 

Had  he  been  nearer  he  would  have  seen  the  men 
of  Boruku,  but  twenty  against  a  hundred,  with  two 
hundred  more  behind  them,  fighting  the  fight  of 
desperate  men.  Knowing  certain  death  was  before 
them,  they  faced  that  death  with  eyes  shining, 
heads  erect,  standing  firm,  while  they  gave  back 
blow  for  blow. 

Osaki  seemed  to  bear  the  strength  of  a  demon. 
Surrounded  by  a  ring  of  swirling  swords,  he  parried 
and  swung  out,  dealing  swift  death  with  his  borrowed 
weapon.  But  the  borrowed  armor  was  broken  in 
many  places  —  Osaki's  blood  mingled  with  the  blood 
of  the  victims  of  his  blade,  though  he  still  stood, 


284    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

cutting  and  slashing  like  a  man  possessed.  At  death 
he  laughed  as  he  swung  wide  and  hard. 

None  of  these  details  of  carnage  could  Rennoske 
see  from  his  aerie.  But  he  had  seen  enough  to 
convince  him  that  the  Matsuyama  were  hidden  in 
ambush  and  that  the  men  of  Boruku  were  falling 
fast.  He  thought  quickly,  that  if  the  black-armored 
soldiers  discovered  that  the  seal-hunter  was  not 
himself,  they  might  be  on  their  guard.  He  called 
to  Yukitaka,  "The  fire!  Light  the  fire!" 

There  was  the  snap  of  the  tinder  box  —  a  cough 
from  the  old  man  and  another  snap.  Two  sparks 
fell  on  unresponding  leaves. 

Rennoske  turned  in  a  panic.  The  leaves  were 
wet!  There  were  three  more  snaps;  still  the  spark 
did  not  catch. 

In  a  fever  he  turned  his  eyes  again  quickly  upon 
the  ravine.  The  moving  white  specks  among  the 
black  were  few  now.  What  if  Takagi  and  the 
Sorrowful  Father  saw  no  signal! 

A  sputter  —  a  crackle  —  a  tiny  flame  flickered  — 
went  out  —  caught  again!  Then,  with  a  mighty 
swirl,  the  blue  smoke  rose  in  a  spiral  cloud. 

Rennoske's  hungry  eyes  turned  again  to  the 
ravine.  What  a  sight!  Were  they  brown  ants  — 
bees  —  flies?  Down  they  swarmed  upon  the  black! 
Their  yells  came  up  on  fitful  gusts  of  wind.  They 
broke  —  no,  it  was  the  black  that  spread. 


BLACK    ANTS    AND    BROWN      285 

He  saw  the  Matsuyama,  no  longer  intent  on 
slaying  the  peasants,  try  to  escape  from  the  un- 
expected trap.  Some  ran  pellmell  into  the  pass  and 
were  lost  in  the  shadow.  Others,  swinging  their 
blades  before  them,  cut  a  path  through  the  thick 
swarm  as  it  came  down,  like  a  fly  trying  to  climb  up 
the  inside  of  a  bottle,  against  a  stream  of  water 
trickling  through  its  top. 

Some  went  up  ten,  some  twenty,  some  as  high 
as  fifty  feet.  But  down  they  rolled,  turning  over 
and  over  as  they  went,  sweeping  from  under  them 
alike  the  feet  of  pursued  and  pursuer.  Spear  was 
doing  stabbing  work,  broadax  singing  a  merry  tune 
upon  the  black  armor! 

Then  there  were  those  in  the  pay  of  the  Black 
Boar  who  did  not  care  to  brook  the  dangers  of 
either  a  peasant-swarming  ravine  or  a  peasant- 
swarming  incline.  These  ran  straight  for  the  mouth 
of  the  pass,  thinking  to  escape  over  the  foothills, 
taking  a  cross-country  path  to  the  east  road  and 
the  palace. 

Alas!  such  quickly  formed  plans  for  escape  were 
as  quickly  frustrated  as  made.  Instead  of  open 
country  and  a  clear  road,  they  came  face  to  face 
with  eight  and  sixty  knights,  armed  with  short 
sword  and  long,  armored  and  helmeted,  waiting 
grimly  for  their  coming. 

What  little  courage  was  left  after  their  surprise, 


286     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

the  last  vestige  of  it  vanished  then.  They  rushed 
upon  the  Knights  of  the  Purple  Lotus,  all  cunning 
and  swordsmanship  thrown  to  the  winds. 

Here  was  no  question  of  rudely  armed  peasants, 
where  every  blow  told  on  exposed  flesh.  They  were 
fighting  soldiers  —  knights  like  themselves,  fully 
and  splendidly  equipped,  prepared  and  ready  for  the 
fray. 

The  black-armored  men  were  paid  to  fight  for 
the  house  of  the  Mountain  of  Pines.  They  fought, 
and  well.  The  Knights  of  the  Purple  Lotus  were 
paid  to  fight  for  their  Daimyo,  the  Little  Tiger  of 
Katsu  and  Nokodate.  They  were  not  fighting  for 
him  now;  but  he  had  sent  them  there  to  fight  for 
the  man  they  called  Little  Warrior.  The  Little 
Tiger  had  a  reputation  of  being  splendidly  obeyed. 

What  mattered  who  they  fought  for?  They 
fought  because  it  was  their  business.  They  fought 
because  there  were  swords  in  their  hands  and  a  foe 
before  them.  Rennoske  saw  them  fight,  but  he 
heard  not  the  song  of  their  swords. 

The  long  sword  bit  through  helmet  and  breast- 
plate. The  short  slid  under  the  joints  of  armpit, 
apron,  thigh  plates,  and  through  the  gorget  lacings. 
If  the  swarm  in  the  defile  had  been  furious,  this 
trained  file  was,  in  its  calm,  cool  way,  doubly 
effective. 

"Come,  Yukitaka,"  said  Rennoske,  turning.    "We 


BLACK    ANTS    AND    BROWN      287 

had  best  descend.  Much  blood  flows  below.  Like 
a  groaning  table  heaped  with  viands,  to  a  full  man, 
it  sickens  me." 

True  as  was  his  sentiment,  there  was  hardly  the 
tone  of  disgust  in  his  voice.  Much  blood  flowed 
below;  but  it  was  the  blood  of  his  foes.  There  was 
no  joy  in  watching  them  slaughtered,  yet  there  was 
the  little  voice  within  him  that  cried:  "The  victory 
is  thine.  Thou  hast  planned  it!"  And  though  the 
spoils  of  war  were  gruesome,  he  was  entitled  to 
them. 

Down  the  spiral  path  they  toiled.  It  was  slow 
work,  for  the  way  was  slippery  from  the  rain.  An 
hour  it  took  them,  the  wind-borne  shouts  growing 
louder  at  each  step. 

As  for  the  fight,  they  saw  no  more  of  that,  for  the 
hill  was  between  them  and  it.  At  length  they 
reached  the  foot  of  the  slope  and  walked  toward  the 
jutting  fir  tree. 

Rennoske  gave  but  a  glance  at  the  ground  be- 
tween himself  and  the  pass.  Hideous  black  and 
red  things  lay  upon  it  in  an  ominous  trail.  There 
was  a  flash  and  a  shout  now  and  then  from  the 
ravine,  with  an  undernote  of  a  clanking  and  clat- 
tering din. 

There  was  something  in  the  shadow  of  the  tree 
that  made  him  quicken  his  steps. 

They  were  taking  off  his  armor,  the  two  Knights 


288     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

of  the  Purple  Lotus  who  brought  him  there.  He 
lay  upon  the  ground,  his  handsome  face  drawn  and 
pale,  a  great  purple  stain  on  the  blue  kimono  they 
had  thrown  over  him.  He  smiled  bloodily  up  at 
Rennoske.  All  the  scorn  was  in  the  smile  still. 

"Who  lies  now?"  he  hiccuped  faintly.  "I  fling 
my  life  at  you!" 

"Osaki  —  Osaki!"  Rennoske  murmured,  kneeling 
beside  him.  "Canst  thou  not  forgive?" 

"Nay,  and  I  cannot!" 

There  was  still  the  vestige  of  a  snarl  in  the  seal- 
hunter's  weak  voice. 

"I  am  not  so  much  to  blame,  Osaki.  Thou 
didst  threaten  me.  Was  it  not  meet  I  should  have 
doubted  thee?" 

" Hei —  what  matters  that  now?  The  words  of 
Osaki  are  not  many." 

"Then  tell  me  —  what  changed  thee  from  mine 
enemy  into  my  friend?" 

"No  friend  am  I  —  to  my  duty  let  this  cursed 
moment  be  placed!" 

"Duty,  Osaki?     I  pray  thee  speak  on." 

Osaki  raised  himself  on  his  elbow.  His  voice 
came  slowly  and  painfully: 

"You  vanquished  me  at  the  house  of  Miyoshi 
and  shamed  me  before  my  bride.  Can  I  love  you 
for  that?  I  wandered  all  that  night,  shamed  to 
return  home  —  brideless.  Wandering  in  the  woods 


BLACK    ANTS    AND    BROWN      289 

by  Boruku  I  heard  voices.  A  dwarf  one  was,  the 
other  a  hag  of  a  woman.  From  them  I  learned  — " 

A  racking  cough  shook  the  seal-hunter's  frame. 
His  head  rolled  from  side  to  side  while  he  gasped  for 
breath. 

"Aye,  aye,  Osaki,"  Rennoske  whispered  tensely. 
"The  strangling  of  the  dwarf  and  the  woman  — 
that  was  thy  work,  was  it  not?" 

Osaki  found  strength  enough  to  nod. 

"Yukitaka,  many  of  my  followers,  and  the  Purple 
Lotus  Knights  came  at  thy  word?" 

After  a  long  spell  of  coughing  the  nod  came 
again. 

"Yet  tell  me  why,  Osaki.  Why  shouldst  thou 
do  this  for  me  who  once  threatened  my  life?"  He 
caught  the  sailor  by  the  kimono  sleeve.  "Clear 
the  mystery,  Osaki,  tell  me  why." 

Osaki  croaked  hoarsely,  every  word  a  terrible 
effort: 

"Have  you  not  had  enough?  Through  you  have 
I  not  lost  all?" 

The  effort  was  too  much  for  him.  He  fell  back, 
gasping  and  coughing. 

Rennoske  twisted  the  kimono  sleeve  in  his  sweat- 
ing palm. 

"Speak,  Osaki  —  for  the  love  we  both  bear  Kiku 
San  —  speak!" 

The  seal-hunter  turned  upon  him  a  wild,  glassy- 


290     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

eyed  stare.  His  jaw  worked.  He  spoke  each  word 
between  a  soul-racking  gasp: 

"I  learned  —  hag  of  hell  —  throttled  them  — 
ha !  ha !  You  were  the  one  —  the  true  —  the  Pr — 
hei  — I" 

"Yes,  Osaki!"  exclaimed  Rennoske.  "I  am 
what?" 

The  sailor  struggled  to  his  elbow  again,  while  his 
waving  arm  pointed  a  finger  at  Rennoske.  His 
eyes  protruded  in  his  effort  to  speak;  but  all  that 
came  from  his  throat  was  a  rattling,  throaty  gurgle. 

" What  —  what  —  what  ? "  screamed  Rennoske, 
as  he  saw  the  man  topple  on  the  brink  of  death. 
Once  he  had  almost  told  him  on  the  sands  of  Boruku, 
again  in  the  house  of  his  foster-father.  In  his  fear 
lest  the  secret  of  his  identity  would  go  with  the  seal- 
hunter,  he  tugged  at  the  blue  kimono  sleeve. 

"Speak,  Osaki!     Who  am  I?" 

Osaki  raised  his  hand  above  his  head,  saluting 
the  man  before  him. 

"Gods  spare  him!"  cried  Rennoske.  "Speak, 
Osaki!" 

But  Osaki  fell  back,  his  lips  forever  silent. 


'        :       Chapter  XXIF 

A  Crawling  "Thing  in  the  Grass 

A  FLOCK  of  herons  rose  screeching  from 
the  marsh  at  the  approach  of  heavy  foot- 
steps. Their  armor  bright  in  the  noonday 
sun,  two  men  trampled  the  green  reeds,  bending 
and  crushing  them  under  foot. 

"Come,  Yoshida,"  called  the  first  clanking  warrior, 
emerging  upon  the  white  highway;  "it  is  time  we 
showed  ourselves." 

"So  —  and  glad  I  am,"  answered  the  other, 
stamping  the  mud  from  his  steel  shin-plates.  "An- 
other hour  in  that  slippery  black  ooze  and  I  would 
soon  commit  hara-kiri,  and  well  I  might,  for  me- 
thinks  that  will  be  our  end  anyway,  O  Mori." 

"And  thou,  too,  hast  caught  the  infection,  Yo- 
shida,"  answered  the  first  speaker  with  a  sneer. 
"Dost  fear  the  ugly  player's  mask,  and  art  frightened 
like  a  silly  peasant  at  a  Kabukil" 

" Kabuki  mask  indeed!"  answered  Yoshida,  the 
stouter  and  rounder-faced  of  the  two,  a  man  who 
loved  his  raw  carp  and  rice,  his  geisha  upon  his  lap, 


292     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

and  his  hot  sakkee.  "Yet  it  is  better  sitting  in  the 
shade  of  a  camphor  tree  than  to  chase  thus  after  a 
bloodthirsty  peasant." 

"Thou  art  droll,  O  Yoshida,"  answered  the  slim 
and  pious-faced  Mori,  cadaverous-cheeked  and  hol- 
low-eyed. "A  wildgoose  chase  it  is  not,  for  a  sharp- 
edged  sword  upon  a  velvet  pillow  awaits  our  failure. 
Thou  art  wrong,  though,  concerning  the  talk  of 
peasant.  Did  not  the  Old  Fox  tell  us  the  man  was 
the  prince  himself?" 

"How,  now?"  answered  Yoshida,  puffing  from  a 
stumble  over  a  stone.  "What  base  treason  is  this? 
There  is  but  one  true  prince,  the  Kuroki  Obutu, 
and  he  reigns  in  the  land.  Thankful  am  I  for  it.  A 
lover  of  ease  like  myself  is  the  Black  Boar.  What 
talk  is  this  of  other  princes?" 

Mori  peered  cautiously  about;  then,  satisfying 
himself  that  he  was  unheard  in  that  desolate  sunlit 
waste  and  there  were  no  ears  in  the  willow  and  reed 
lined  road,  he  spoke  confidently  to  his  companion: 

"Between  thou  and  me,  O  Yoshida,  there  should 
be  agreement  most  perfect.  Well  dost  thou  know 
that  the  throne  belongs  to  the  Ackagawa,  and  the 
man  we  are  sent  to  slay  is  Rennoske,  rightful  Daimyo 
of  that  house." 

"Indeed,"  answered  Yoshida.  "This  interests 
me.  I  paid  but  little  attention  while  the  baron 
spoke,  my  mind  being  upon  a  Chinese  dish  —  a 


A    CRAWLING    THING  293 

soft  kind  of  bird's-nest  —  I  had  for  dinner.  It  was 
only  when  his  high  excellency  declared  my  life  would 
be  forfeit  if  we  did  not  slay  this  fellow,  who,  me- 
thought  he  said,  was  a  peasant.  Tell  me  more." 

"There  is  little  else  to  tell,"  continued  Mori. 
"The  boy  was  taken  from  the  court  when  he  was 
twelve,  on  the  day  of  his  father's  death,  by  one  Hida, 
his  sword  teacher.  The  baron  sought  to  slay  them 
in  the  summer  palace  by  the  Inland  Sea,  long  since 
burned  in  that  fight. 

"It  seems  that  by  some  means  the  Prince  Rennoske 
escaped  and  has  dwelt  these  twelve  years  among  the 
people  of  the  mountains.  Yet  the  strangest  part  of 
the  tale  is  that  the  young  man  knows  not  that  he 
is  the  prince,  for  a  blow  with  a  sword  in  the  hands  of 
the  Black  Boar  when  they  were  children,  robbed  him 
of  his  memory  and  makes  him  at  times  an  imbecile, 
and  to —  Yoshida,  thou  art  not  listening!  Is  it 
the  edible  bird's-nest  of  China  again?" 

Yoshida  snorted. 

"Listening?  Aye,  and  plenty  have  I  heard!  It  is 
enough  that  he  is  the  son  of  the  Ackagawa  dynasty, 
for  they  were  rice  eaters  always,  with  not  a  carp  or 
ape  for  dinner  from  one  full  moon  to  the  other." 

"Then  wilt  thou  think  still  less  of  the  son," 
laughed  Mori;  "for  thy  fat  must  subsist  upon 
millet  and  barley,  with  now  and  then  a  parboiled 
bamboo  sprout." 


294    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Ugh!"  grunted  Yoshida.  "Of  all  things,  I  hate 
millet  worst,  excepting  it  be  barley;  and  if  a  bam- 
boo sprout  be  not  well  cooked  I  would  sooner 
starve  than  eat  it.  This  being  so,  I  will  send  this 
insolent  rebel  hellward  before  I  have  eaten  one  of 
his  filthy  meals." 

"Softly,  Yoshida,"  said  Mori;  "we  must  work 
slowly.  First  his  confidence  must  be  gained,  so  we 
may  be  near  him  while  he  sleeps.  I  will  try  first, 
Yoshida,  and  if  I  fail,  then  will  it  be  thy  turn. 
Listen  - 

And  heads  together  the  two  knights  walked  slowly 
along  the  dusty,  sunlit  road. 

Rennoske  had  made  his  camp  on  the  other  side 
of  the  ravine,  for  owing  to  the  complete  rout  of  the 
Matsuyama  host,  it  took  almost  a  day  to  gather 
together  his  blood-lusted  peasants. 

They  had  pursued  the  fleeing  black-armored 
knights  far  up  the  mountainside,  returning  with 
captured  swords,  helmets,  and  breastplates. 

The  wily  baron  had  underestimated  the  strength 
and  cunning  of  his  foe,  for  the  ambushing  party 
had  consisted  of  few  more  than  three  hundred  men, 
of  which  less  than  a  hundred  had  escaped.  The 
peasants  lost  sevenscore,  including  the  ill-fated  men 
of  Boruku. 

Even  though  the  opposing  army  had  been  so  small, 


A    CRAWLING    THING  295 

the  victory  was  not  so  hollow  as  it  seemed.  What 
if  the  ambush  had  succeeded?  What  if  the  dead 
Osaki's  warning  had  not  come? 

Taken  unawares,  their  army  cut  in  half,  the  effect 
of  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  soldiers,  all  experi- 
enced men,  would  have  had  its  effect  on  the  excitable 
peasants.  Rout  would  have  been  sure,  Rennoske's 
death  certain.  Without  him  their  spirit  would 
be  broken  and  the  entire  cause  lost.  As  for  the 
Knights  of  the  Purple  Lotus,  although  they  had 
fought  nobly  with  a  winning  cause,  their  mettle 
was  yet  to  be  tried  by  defeat.  After  all,  it  was  no 
quarrel  of  theirs. 

Yet  victory,  and  complete  victory,  had  shone  on 
Rennoske's  arms.  There  were  some  two  hundred 
experienced  warriors  fewer  in  the  pay  of  his  enemy, 
while  his  own  men  had  seen  the  bloody  clash  of  arms 
and  heard  the  death-rattle  in  the  throats  of  their 
companions. 

Valiantly  they  had  borne  up  under  the  test.  Yes, 
thought  the  young  leader,  as  he  stood  upon  a  flat 
rock  in  the  shade  of  a  shelving  one  above,  victory, 
and  complete  victory,  had  been  his. 

"Might  I  humbly  beg,  O  leader,"  said  Takagi, 
coming  up  to  him,  "to  know  what  are  your  plans?" 

"I  would  fain  remain  here  over  night,  O  Takagi," 
he  answered.  "Then  the  men  will  be  rested  for  an 
early  march  at  dawn." 


296    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Will  not  this  give  our  enemy  a  chance  to  gather 
their  forces  and  cross  the  Obigawa?"  asked  the 
Sorrowful  Father,  speaking  from  the  rock  on  which 
he  squatted. 

"It  does  not  so  occur  to  me,"  Rennoske  replied 
quickly.  "Those  who  escaped  have  ere  this  rejoined 
their  companions.  They  will  bring  news  that  the 
Little  Warrior  and  his  men  have  come  through  the 
pass,  and  march  onward.  Then  will  they  probably 
move  to  this  road  through  the  marsh  lands,  thinking 
to  head  us  off  before  we  reach  the  plain  before  the 
palace. 

"  In  truth  we  shall  turn  to  the  left,  and  by  a  day's 
march  come  upon  the  banks  of  the  Obigawa.  The 
stream  here  is  far  from  the  sea  and  shallow.  Half 
of  our  army  will  ford,  the  other  half  remaining  on 
the  right  bank.  Thus  we  will  move  toward  the 
palace  on  both  sides  of  the  river. 

"If  we  encounter  the  Matsuyama  on  either  side, 
our  force  is  enough,  though  divided,  to  hold  them  in 
check,  while  those  of  us  on  the  other  bank  will  rush 
onward  to  the  palace  that  will  be  almost  defenseless. 
What  shall  the  host  of  the  Matsuyama  do  then, 
thinkest  thou,  O  Takagi?" 

The  tea-planter  and  the  Sorrowful  Father  answered 
nothing.  Yukitaka,  lying  upon  his  back  in  the  cool 
shade  of  the  rocks,  muttered  something  about  the 
divine  light  of  the  gods  themselves  shining  on  a  mind. 


A    CRAWLING    THING  297 

And  he  shook  his  old  head,  rubbing  his  bald  spot 
upon  the  smooth  stone. 

A  bare-legged  woodman  came  suddenly  into  the 
silence  where  Rennoske  stood. 

"There  are  two  knights  come,  O  leader,"  said  the 
man  with  deferential  bow.  "They  say  their  business 
is  urgent,  and  offer  to  leave  their  swords  with  me  as 
a  token  of  their  peaceful  intentions." 

Yukitaka  sprang  up  hurriedly. 

"  Perhaps  the  Matsuyama  sue  for  peace,  Little  War- 
rior," he  cried.  "Oh,  grant  it  not!  It  is  not  that 
the  sharp  tusks  of  the  boar  may  heal  the  havoc  of 
blood  and  terror  he  has  wrought.  Oh,  grant  it  not!" 

"Grant  it  not,"  said  the  Sorrowful  Father  and 
Takagi  together. 

Rennoske  raised  his  hand. 

"Bid  the  two  knights  enter,"  he  said  calmly,  "and 
with  their  weapons.  Yet  stay  —  go  first  to  the 
Knights  of  the  Purple  Lotus  and  ask  in  my  name 
that  four  accompany  these  two  hither." 

In  a  few  moments  the  clanking  of  the  six  armored 
men  resounded  over  the  rocks.  From  between  the 
Purple  Lotus  Knights  stepped  Yoshida  and  Mori. 
The  thinner  knight  knelt,  drew  both  his  swords 
from  his  sash,  hilt  foremost,  and  laid  them  at  the 
feet  of  Rennoske.  With  a  grunting  effort  the  stout 
Yoshida  did  the  same,  then  both  lay,  face  between 
palms,  upon  the  black  stone. 


298     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Rise,  Samurai,"  came  Rennoske's  voice.  "If 
your  business  be  peaceful,  as  your  offered  swords 
portend,  it  shall  be  good  for  myself  and  the  knights 
who  are  my  companions." 

Mori  gave  a  quick  glance  to  Yoshida,  then  pro- 
ceeded in  a  well-rehearsed  voice  of  submission : 

"I  am  Mori  of  the  Scarlet  Poppy,  my  companion, 
Yoshida,  son  of  Yoshida  of  the  Ringing  Bell,  sons 
of  the  Samurai  both.  We  have  come  to  offer  our 
swords  and  our  service,  for  they  have  grown  rusty 
among  the  geisha. 

"We  take  them  from  one  who  scorns  them  for 
women's  deeds  and  bring  them  to  one  who  is  a 
soldier.  We  take  them  from  one  who  oppresses  and 
give  them  to  one  who  offers  freedom.  We  take  them 
from  the  service  of  the  Black  Boar  and  offer  them  to 
the  man  they  call  Little  Warrior." 

So  unexpected  was  the  message  that  Rennoske  and 
the  three  stood  speechless. 

"Right  our  wrong,  O  man  they  call  Little  War- 
rior," croaked  Yoshida.  "  Bid  us  rise  —  and  join 
you." 

"Ye  have  wrongs?"  asked  Takagi  with  a  stinging 
emphasis  on  the  first  word. 

"Aye,"  answered  the  stout  knight.  "The  Black 
Boar  gave  us  bad  food." 

"Our  wrongs  are  many,  O  leader,"  Mori  said 
quickly.  "There  are  others  at  the  side  of  the  Black 


A    CRAWLING    THING  299 

Boar  who  eagerly  await  your  coming.  The  court 
totters  amid  licentiousness." 

The  Sorrowful  Father  groaned. 

"The  women  rule;  all  true  men  await  your 
coming.  Many  would  have  joined  you  ere  this,  but 
they  feared  your  feelings  against  the  Matsuyama 
would  be  too  bitter  to  welcome  any  who  had  partaken 
of  their  meager  bounty.  Thus  are  they  between  two 
fires.  We,  whose  wrongs  at  the  hands  of  the  Matsu- 
yama are  many  as  the  cattails  upon  the  marsh,  could 
wait  inactive  no  longer.  I  had  the  promise,  too,  of 
many  who  but  waited  to  see  how  we  were  received 
ere  they,  too,  offered  their  swords  at  your  feet." 

Mori  was  bold  enough  to  look  up  at  the  face  of 
Rennoske  to  see  what  effect  his  words  had  had. 
The  leader  stood  in  deep  thought.  The  shadow  from 
the  rock  above  darkened  half  of  his  face.  He 
started  from  his  reverie. 

"Rise,  Knight  of  the  Scarlet  Poppy,"  he  said. 
"Rise,  Knight  of  the  Ringing  Bell." 

Yoshida  puffed,  relieved,  and  scrambled  to  his  feet. 
1  "You  are  welcome  among  our  host,"  Rennoske 
continued.  "Thy  words  are  fair,  O  Mori,  a  place 
ye  shall  both  have  at  my  side." 

Mori  shot  another  quick  glance  at  Yoshida  and 
the  knights  bowed  low  again,  offering  a  thousand 
thanks. 

Rennoske  spent  the  afternoon  among  his  men, 


300    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

showing  those  who  had  swords  taken  from  the 
Matsuyama  how  to  use  them.  Until  late  in  the 
evening  he  drilled  them,  never  tiring,  his  heart  in 
his  work.  Though  they  were  an  incongruous  lot, 
a  pudding-faced  fellow  here  and  there  under  an  ill- 
fitting  helmet,  a  brawny  chest  sweating  under  an 
unaccustomed  breastplate  or  shirt  of  chain-mail,  yet 
they  had  in  their  frank,  slanting  eyes  the  light  of 
idolatry  that  made  his  heart  beat  high. 

He  ate  a  silent  meal  with  Yoshida,  Mori,  and  the 
three,  and  after  a  round  of  his  camp-fires,  where  he 
had  a  cheery  word  for  all,  went  to  his  resting-place. 
But  sleep  would  not  come.  A  sharp  pain  at  the 
back  of  his  head  disturbed  him.  He  dared  not 
think  of  what  it  might  portend. 

Ever  and  anon,  like  the  droning  of  bees,  came 
Yoshida's  sleepy  voice  in  answer  to  questions  put  to 
him  by  the  Sorrowful  Father  who  asked  for  news  of 
his  son.  This  too  soon  died  away  into  silence. 

There  were  two  more  under  that  shelving  rock 
who  could  not  sleep.  The  first  was  Mori,  because 
he  would  not.  The  other  was  Yukitaka,  because  he 
could  not.  When  the  wind  swept  over  the  marsh, 
sending  the  rustle  of  it  to  his  ears,  the  Knight  of  the 
Scarlet  Poppy  would  sit  up  and  peer  about  him  under 
cover  of  the  noise.  Once  he  even  tried  to  creep 
toward  Rennoske. 

But  with  every  stir,  with  every  move,  Yukitaka 


A    CRAWLING    THING  301 

moved  with  him.  Mori  heard  and  felt,  even  though 
he  could  not  see,  that  he  was  watched,  felt  that  the 
keen  eyes  of  the  old  student  were  upon  him.  Fearing 
lest  he  should  betray  himself  too  soon,  he  let  himself 
fall  softly  to  sleep. 

At  dawn  the  little  army  arose  and  moved  onward. 
The  way  was  hard,  for  they  struck  through  the 
black  ooze  of  the  marsh  under  a  broiling  hot  sun. 
All  day  they  marched  in  the  stifling  heat,  yellow 
faces  shining  sweaty,  brown  legs  caked  with  sticky 
mud.  In  the  evening  they  came  upon  the  banks  of 
the  Obigawa  and,  tired,  hungry,  and  thirsty,  made 
a  hurried  camp,  first  cooling  their  weary  feet  in  the 
stream. 

Two  men  took  advantage  of  the  bustle  of  prepara- 
tion for  a  whispered  conversation  under  a  drooping, 
sheltering  willow. 

"It  must  be  to-night,  Yoshida,"  said  the  first. 
"I  hear  from  the  man  they  call  Takagi  that  they 
will  be  upon  the  plain  before  the  palace  upon  the 
afternoon  of  tomorrow,  or  at  dawn  of  the  second  day 
hence.  Listen  then  —  lie  thou  far  from  the  prince. 
Stir  not,  unless  I  call.  Yet  there  is  that  which 
thou  must  do.  When  the  stillness  and  the  darkness 
that  comes  before  the  dawn  are  at  hand,  creep  to 
where  he  lies.  If  he  is  alive,  strike  with  this  dagger, 
run  to  the  river,  and  swim  the  stream.  There  will 
you  find  me  under  yonder  fir,  whose  gnarled  branch 


302     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

spreads  o'er  the  stream  like  a  brown  crooked  elbow. 
Dost  thou  understand?" 

"Aye,"  answered  Yoshida,  taking  the  knife.  "I 
have  borne  enough  of  this  dog's  insolence.  I  shall 
strike  then,  if  thou  failest.  Failing  or  not,  I  am  to 
meet  thee  by  yonder  ape's  elbow  of  a  tree  before  the 
dawn." 

"It  is  agreed  then,"  said  Mori,  through  set  teeth. 
"Let  us  return  ere  we  rouse  suspicion." 

By  separate  ways  the  two  knights  walked  toward 
Rennoske  and  the  three.  The  night  was  dark.  The 
river  ran  by  swiftly,  the  lap  of  it  among  the  reeds 
and  the  muddy  shore  was  made  doubly  loud  by  the 
silence  in  tree  and  grass,  of  bird  and  insect. 

The  army  of  the  Little  Warrior  slept  on  the 
sloping  bank  of  the  Obigawa,  heads  pillowed  on 
sinewy  arms  or  flat  upon  broad  backs  in  the  wav- 
ing grass.  The  willows  waved  over  them  —  tired 
and  worn,  sailor  beside  mountaineer,  fisherman  be- 
side shepherd,  woodman  breathing  deeply  beside 
weary  farmer. 

Yoshida  lay  alone  twoscore  feet  from  the  water's 
edge.  It  was  an  uncomfortable  night  for  him,  son 
of  Yoshida  of  the  Ringing  Bell !  He  had  taken  off  his 
armor  in  the  expectancy  of  his  early  morning  swim. 
He  cursed  the  thought  that  he  had  first  looked 
upon  as  a  stroke  of  genius,  for  sharp  stones  stuck  into 
his  fat  back.  He  turned  on  his  side,  then  reared  up 


A    CRAWLING    THING  303 

again  with  a  smothered  howl  as  a  thick  bunch  of 
stubble  sank  into  his  flabby  flesh. 

First  it  was  the  gnats  that  flew  persistent  about 
his  head,  tickling  his  nostrils.  Now  it  was  the 
mosquitoes  that  buzzed  about  his  thick  neck  and 
stung  his  bare  arms  and  ankles. 

When  at  length  the  insects  left  him,  borne  away 
by  a  sharp,  chill  breeze  that  froze  him  to  the  marrow, 
he  fain  would  have  slept.  Sleep  he  dared  not,  lest 
he  should  be  sleeping  in  that  horrible  hour  before 
the  dawn. 

Ugly  sounds  came  to  his  ears.  At  first  he  thought 
it  was  crawling  crocodiles  and  started  up  with  damp 
and  bristling  hair.  No,  it  was  but  these  pigs  of 
peasants  —  they  snored  —  curse  them! 

Ever  and  anon  he  heard  other  sounds  where  Ren- 
noske,  Mori,  and  the  three  lay.  Each  clink,  each 
stir,  each  deep  breath  chilled  his  blood.  Was  that 
it  —  was  that  Mori's  knife  striking  deep  ? 

Yoshida  had  known  no  such  night  of  misery  in  all 
the  three  and  thirty  years  of  his  life.  At  length  he 
heard  a  faint  splash  and  the  paddle,  paddle  of  hands 
growing  fainter  over  the  water. 

The  gods  of  his  ancestors  be  praised  —  it  was 
done  then!  The  peasant  prince  was  slain,  for  Mori 
swam  the  river. 

Yet  there  was  work  —  disgusting  menial  work 
ahead  for  Yoshida,  son  of  Yoshida  of  the  Ringing 


304    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Bell.  An  hour  he  waited.  He  took  the  dagger  and 
placed  it  between  his  teeth  —  it  was  the  calm  before 
the  dawn. 

Lying  flat  upon  his  stomach,  he  crawled  and 
wriggled  through  the  long  grass,  a  foot  —  a  yard  — 
a  dozen  yards.  And  now  an  armored  foot  stuck  up 
out  of  the  grass  beside  him.  He  crawled  toward  the 
face  —  it  was  Takagi. 

Further  he  crept.  His  hand  felt  something  stiff 
and  cold.  He  peered  close  to  it  —  it  was  another 
hand.  He  followed  it  up  —  to  the  elbow  —  on  to 
the  shoulder.  He  saw  a  still  chest  under  a  motion- 
less kimono. 

He  looked  at  the  face.  The  jaw  hung  loose, 
drooping  inward,  the  nose  was  pinched.  The  eyes 
were  wide  open  and  stared  glassily  upward.  It  was 
the  face  of  the  man  they  called  Little  Warrior! 

Some  one  stirred  at  the  other  side  of  him.  Yo- 
shida  became  panic-stricken.  What  if  they  should 
find  him  there  by  the  side  of  their  dead  leader,  the 
knife  in  his  teeth  ?  Mori's  knife  had  done  its  work. 
The  man  was  dead  —  quite  dead. 

There  was  another  movement  and  a  deep  breath 
beside  him.  His  only  thought  was  escape  before 
they  discovered  him.  Yoshida  crawled  down  the 
steep  bank  and,  parting  the  reeds,  slid  head  fore- 
most into  the  water. 

There  was  another  splash  behind  him! 


Chapter 
The  Rustling  Reeds  of  Pursuit 

WITH  a  rapidity  that  was  remarkable  even 
to  himself,  Yoshida  swam  the  cold  water 
of  the  Obigawa.  The  first  splash  had 
increased  now  to  three;  distinctly  he  heard  them 
above  his  own  puffing  and  splashing. 

How  many  there  were  it  mattered  not.  There 
was  enough  terror  to  clutch  icily  at  his  heart. 

Had  Mori  escaped  and  was  he  alone  the  scapegoat? 
Would  they  torture  him  with  fire  or  water  if  he 
were  caught?  These  and  like  horrible  questionings 
coursed  through  his  brain  as  he  plowed,  porpoise-like, 
through  the  water. 

At  length  his  feet  touched  the  mud  of  the  bottom. 
He  sank  deep  in  it  up  to  his  ankles.  Gods  —  he  was 
stuck  there,  like  a  fat  ox! 

He  heard  behind  him  the  soft,  cuplike  splash  of 
the  swimmer's  hands.  Every  second  brought  them 
nearer.  Yoshida  gritted  his  teeth  and  with  a  mighty 
leap  landed  face  downward  in  the  water.  But  he 
gained  what  he  sought,  for  as  he  fell  he  stretched  his 


3o6     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

arms  at  full  length,  and  his  hands  gripped  the  base 
of  the  reeds.  He  felt  them  twined  about  his  fingers. 
Then  a  tug  —  a  mighty  pull  —  and  dripping,  muddy, 
slimy,  he  emerged  upon  the  bank  and  fell  crashing 
into  the  grass! 

But  there  was  no  rest  for  him.  There  was  a  splash 
and  a  sucking  sound  behind  him  and  he  knew  his 
pursuers  had  reached  the  mud. 

Through  the  grass  he  wriggled,  squirmed,  and 
twisted,  his  object  the  fantastic  tree  that  was  now 
faintly  seen  against  the  gray  of  the  east.  A  snake 
wriggled  slimy  over  his  back.  He  screamed,  stood 
up,  and  ran  toward  the  tree. 

A  black  something  rushed  at  him,  an  arm  ran 
round  his  waist,  and  a  hand  was  laid  tightly  upon 
his  mouth.  Caught!  No,  his  bulging  eyes  looked 
into  the  face  of  Mori. 

"Swine!"  whispered  the  other  knight  in  his  ear. 
"Wouldst  wake  the  whole  camp  with  thy  yelling 
and  have  them  after  us?" 

For  Yoshida  had  answered  never  a  word;  but 
Mori,  Knight  of  the  Scarlet  Poppy,  read  in  the  other's 
horror-lined  face  the  truth  —  read  that  they  were 
fugitives  in  this  marsh  land,  fugitives  with  a  band 
of  death-robbed  peasants  after  them  who  would  — 
why  dwell  upon  that  thought,  there  was  already  a 
rustling  in  the  reeds  close  to  him. 

"Follow  me  for  your  life!"  he  cried,  releasing  his 


RUSTLING    REEDS    OF    PURSUIT   307 

hold  on  the  quaking  Yoshida,  and  darted  among  the 
reeds.  Would  it  never  end?  thought  the  stout 
knight.  He  kept  Mori's  back  as  his  guide  as  he 
stumbled  through  the  mud  and  grass.  He  dared  not 
look  below,  lest  some  twisted  black  root  of  a  sunken 
stump  make  him  think  a  snake  lay  coiled  to  strike. 
He  dared  not  look  behind  lest  he  should  see  the 
leering  face  of  a  peasant  through  the  bars  of  grass. 

Slowly  the  light  in  the  east  grew.  More  clearly 
he  saw  Mori's  back  that  every  moment  grew  smaller 
and  smaller.  Could  it  be  that  the  other  was  running 
away  from  him?  He  stopped,  his  breath  spent,  his 
heart  thumping  like  a  hound-chased  rabbit. 

R-r-r-rustle  —  sweep  ! 

It  was  the  tall  grass  behind  him!  He  did  not  look 
back,  but  with  the  strength  born  of  terror,  ran  on 
through  the  mire,  closing  in  on  Mori's  disappearing 
back  with  every  frantic  leap  from  bog  to  bog. 

"Mori!  Mori!"  he  panted,  spent  again  after  a 
struggle  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  "Halt  —  I  can  go 
no  further!" 

To  his  relief  he  saw  Mori  stop.  Dragging  his 
lead-seeming  feet  after  him  he  came  to  the  bog  where 
the  thin  knight  stood. 

But  something  in  the  attitude  of  Mori,  Knight  of 
the  Scarlet  Poppy,  made  him  hold  his  peace.  The 
expression  on  the  cadaverous  face  was  terrible,  the 
eyes  but  mere  slits  in  the  head  that  lay  sunk  upon 


308     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

his  chest.  Yoshida  followed  the  direction  of  the 
other's  gaze. 

In  the  first  pink  rays  of  the  rising  sun  he  saw, 
through  the  grass,  a  peasant  armed  with  a  heavy 
club,  coming  directly  toward  them.  Gods  —  had 
they  been  surrounded  then? 

The  peasant  looked  up  and  saw  them.  With  a 
yell  he  sprang  out  at  the  two,  swinging  his  weapon. 
Quickly  did  Mori  move.  He  crouched  upon  his 
haunches  as  the  man  came  toward  him.  The 
peasant,  impelled  by  his  sudden  leap,  fell  sprawl- 
ing over  Mori's  shoulders.  Yoshida  saw  something 
gleam  in  a  circle  —  it  was  Mori's  knife.  He  heard 
the  man  on  the  ground  utter  a  groan. 

Then  looking  behind  him,  Yoshida  saw  something. 
Another  peasant  had  just  parted  the  reeds  and 
was  moving  cautiously  upon  Mori,  who  still  crouched 
upon  the  ground.  Yoshida,  terror  and  the  fear  of 
death  turning  him  suddenly  insane,  lowered  his 
head  and,  bellowing  like  a  bull,  ran  madly  at  the 
man,  butting  him  in  the  pit  of  the  stomach! 

"Quick!    The  river!" 

In  a  panic  Yoshida  turned  to  the  right  and  followed 
blindly  on.  He  cared  not  now  where  his  feet  trod; 
snakes  or  crocodiles  had  no  terror  for  him.  Mori's 
cry  of  "the  river"  echoed  through  his  brain. 

The  river?  Aye,  anywhere  out  and  away  from 
this!  Whether  Mori  meant  to  swim  or  drown  him- 


RUSTLING     REEDS    OF     PURSUIT   309 

self  mattered  not  in  that  wild  moment.  The  water 
was  cool  and  would  awaken  him.  How  he  longed 
to  lie  down  and  sleep  in  the  mire,  like  a  hog! 

The  other  knight  had  reached  the  bank  of  the 
stream.  Instead  of  splashing  through  it,  Yoshida 
saw  that  he  crept  slowly  out  until  the  water  reached 
his  chest.  The  stout  knight  did  likewise. 

"Keep  thy  head  under  water  and  splash  not," 
came  Mori's  whisper. 

Yoshida,  like  an  infant,  obeyed.  Twice  he  sank, 
his  strength  ebbing  fast;  but  the  booming  roar  of  the 
water  in  his  ears  spurred  him  on  again  to  move  his 
arms  and  legs  like  an  automaton,  and  he  reached 
the  opposite  bank. 

Still  following  Mori's  back,  he  stumbled  on,  this 
time  under  the  overhanging  branches  of  a  grove  of 
willows  that  grew  close  to  the  water's  edge.  The 
gods  of  his  ancestors  be  praised  —  Mori  sat  upon 
the  ground.  With  the  last  spurt  of  his  strength  he 
came  beside  him  and  fell  face  downward  upon  the 
ground,  a  worn-out,  quivering  lump  of  exhausted 
flesh! 

How  long  he  slept  he  knew  not  —  but  a  hand 
was  tugging  at  his  shoulder.  He  started  up,  think- 
ing he  was  caught  at  last.  But  it  was  only  Mori. 

"Awake,  Yoshida,"  the  slim  knight  whispered. 
"None  follow  us.  We  have  escaped.  I  would 
question  thee." 


3io    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"So,"  he  answered,  "I  thought  thee  a  bloodthirsty 
peasant.  Thy  knife  sings  a  good  song,  O  Mori. 
First  the  Imbecile,  then  those  who  pursue  us.  A 
noble  welcome  we  will  have  at  the  hands  of  the  old 
fox." 

"You  killed  him  then?"  hissed  Mori. 

"What  was  the  need?"  answered  Yoshida  with  a 
shiver.  "The  man  was  already  dead.  I  felt  his  icy 
hand,  saw  his  hanging  jaw  and  staring  eyes  as  he  lay 
upon  the  ground.  We  have  had  a  fearsome  time  of 
it,  but  the  prince  of  the  Ackagawa  is  dead." 

"Yet  you  struck  home  to  make  sure  when  you 
reached  him?"  Mori  spoke  in  a  tense  whisper. 

"And  wherefore?"  Yoshida  replied,  with  another 
shiver.  "Why  should  I  strike  a  dead  man?  More- 
over, there  came  the  stirring  beside  me  that  made  me 
fear  for  my  life,  and  indeed  it  was  one  I  had  awaked 
as  what  happened  since  showed.  Struck  home  to 
make  sure?  Gods  of  my  ancestors,  a  man  can  be 
killed  but  once!" 

"Son  of  a  thousand  apes!"  cried  Mori.  "What 
needed  we  of  this  cowardly  running  from  swine? 
I  came  not  near  the  prince,  for  the  dog  Yukitaka  lay 
ever  between  us.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  escape." 

"But—" 

"Fool!  fool!  fool!  That  which  you  took  for  death 
was  only  the  man's  strange  sickness  —  the  mark  of 
the  Black  Boar's  sword!" 


RUSTLING    REEDS    OF    PURSUIT   311 

Mori  rose  with  an  effort,  then  turned  to  the  staring 
Yoshida. 

"I  think  under  yonder  spreading  willow  tree  is  a 
good  place  to  die,"  he  said  slowly.  "Wilt  thou  join 
me  or  do  the  deed  here  alone?" 

But  Yoshida,  son  of  Yoshida  of  the  Ringing  Bell, 
never  answering,  rose  and  ran  screaming  from  the 
shade  of  the  trees  out  into  the  sunlight,  toward  the 
palace. 


Chapter 
A  Blow  with  the  Same  Sword 

LOOK  you,  O  leader!"  cried  Yukitaka. 
"The  river  runs  red  in  the  morning  sun- 
light." 

Rennoske  looked. 

Red  ran  the  river  between  the  green-reeded  banks 
toward  the  palace.  A  red  river  flowed  toward  the 
palace  and  Red  River  was  his  name.  The  omen 
was  good,  but  Rennoske  knew  it  not.  Prince 
Rennoske  of  the  Ackagawa  knew  not  yet  his 
identity. 

To  himself,  in  lieu  of  something  better,  he  was  still 
the  son  of  Miyoshi  the  Farmer.  As  such,  and  as 
such  only,  he  had  come  to  be  the  leader  of  more  than 
two  thousand  men.  Fate  had  played  its  part. 
Another's  help  had  added  to  the  roll;  so  had  a  primi- 
tive form  of  advertisement,  the  written  words  on 
the  trees.  Yet  behind  it  all,  the  young  man's 
splendid  spirit  was  paramount.  So  much  again  for 
hereditary  training  and  innate  warlike  instinct. 

As  was  the  usual  thing,  the  spell  of  his  illness  of 


A    BLOW    WITH    THE    SWORD      313 

the  night  before  gave  him  a  brighter  view  of  things 
in  the  morning.  It  was  as  if  the  cogs  of  a  wheel  had 
slipped,  and  on  being  repaired  again,  worked  more 
smooth  than  before. 

"What  is  it,  O  Takagi?"  he  asked  of  the  tea- 
planter,  who  stood  by  him  with  questioning  eyes. 

"The  knights  Yoshida  and  Mori?"  he  responded. 
"They  are  gone,  O  leader!  Their  armor  lies  upon 
the  ground  e'en  where  they  slept." 

"How  sayeth  thou?     What  means  this?" 

"'Tis  not  so  much  of  a  loss,"  croaked  Yukitaka, 
his  tongue  in  cheek  and  his  little  eyes  twinkling  mer- 
rily. He  had  had  an  early  morning  interview  with 
four  sturdy  peasants.  "Perhaps  the  simple  fare  of 
our  camp  was  too  coarse  for  the  honorable  Yoshida's 
stomach.  Yet  I  fancy  the  breakfast  the  baron  hath 
prepared  for  him  will  be  hardly  to  his  liking.  As  for 
the  knight  Mori  —  he  lies  upon  his  back  in  the  tall 
grass,  his  wide-open  eyes  admiring  the  top  branch 
of  a  waterside  willow." 

And  Yukitaka's  eyes  twinkled  into  the  under- 
standing eyes  of  Rennoske. 

The  order  was  given  for  the  men  to  bathe  in  the 
stream  and  that  they  should  not  spare  themselves 
anything  they  wished  for  breakfast.  This  gave 
them  the  hint  that  they  would  either  feed  that  night 
upon  the  stored-up  rice  of  the  baron,  or  eat  the  food 
dead  men  required  —  none  at  all. 


3i4    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"But  hei!"  said  they.  "Let  us  eat  anyway,  for 
if  we  go  empty  among  the  spirits,  we  must  wander 
about  kitchens  in  search  of  the  food  we  went  hence 
without." 

The  start  was  made  about  an  hour  after  sunrise. 
According  to  the  plans,  the  army  was  to  be  divided, 
each  half  moving  along  either  side  of  the  stream. 

The  knights  of  the  Purple  Lotus  split  into  an  even 
thirty-two,  taking  the  van  to  give  the  advance  a 
more  imposing  front.  The  Sorrowful  Father  and 
Takagi  were  to  take  charge  of  the  body  on  the  right 
bank,  while  Rennoske  and  Yukitaka  took  command 
of  the' one  on  the  left.  Final  orders  and  commands 
came  from  the  leader,  of  course,  whose  plan  the 
movement  was. 

Soon  the  water  was  a-splash  as  the  fishers  felt  for 
the  ford  with  long  boughs  of  willow.  Finding  bottom 
as  they  walked,  they  stood  in  double  file,  while  those 
less  experienced  in  the  ways  of  the  waters  passed 
laughing  and  shouting  between. 

One  of  Rennoske's  bronze  toe-caps  was  already  in 
the  water.  He  turned  to  where  Takagi  and  the 
Sorrowful  Father  stood  upon  the  bank  above  him. 
He  looked  into  their  eyes.  His  chin  was  held  high. 
Firm  and  untrembling  were  his  lips  as  he  spoke: 

"Thou,  O  Takagi,  and  thou,  too,  O  Sorrowful 
Father.  We  are  now  upon  the  last  spoke  of  our 
wheel,  the  last  tempering  of  our  steel.  Today  our 


A    BLOW    WITH    THE    SWORD      315 

fate  hangs  in  the  balance.  To  you,  brothers  both, 
I  entrust  one-half  of  my  forces.  It  is  not  meet  that 
I  call  to  your  minds  what  rests  with  you  both. 
Should  you  meet  the  foe,  hold  them  and  fight  to  the 
death.  Should  I  come  upon  them,  then  it  is  your 
duty  to  rush  onward  with  all  speed  to  the  palace 
and  slay  the  Black  Boar.  Doing  this,  it  will  be  time 
enough  to  search  for  me. 

"It  is  plain  that  this  day  many  men  must  fall. 
It  is  also  plain  that  we  who  lead  must  give  courage 
and  show  the  way,  even  should  we  fall  ourselves. 
I  ask  not  that  you  do  more  than  I.  All  I  shall  do 
that  the  gods  let  me. 

"Stand  firm  when  you  stand;  strike  hard  and 
deep.  Give  no  quarter  till  it  be  asked,  and  remember 
that  it  is  for  your  homes,  your  wives,  and  the  liberty 
of  the  people  that  you  strike.  When  the  blessed 
fruits  of  victory  are  before  us,  then  we  may  smile 
indeed,  and  share  them.  Saianara  —  I  salute  you!" 

"  Saianari,  I  salute  you,  O  leader,"  repeated 
Takagi.  "If  those  on  one  side  of  the  river  must  fail, 
Inari  and  all  the  gods  bear  me  witness,  it  shall  not 
be  the  one  on  the  right  bank  if  I  stand  and  face 
these  dogs  alone!" 

The  Sorrowful  Father  raised  his  hand  in  silent 
benediction. 

Rennoske  followed  the  fisher  through  the  water 
that  came  slowly  and  cool  to  his  chest,  then  back  to 


3i6    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

his  ankles  again.  He  soon  came  upon  the  opposite 
bank,  his  armor  dripping  into  the  willow-reflected 
water. 

The  Knights  of  the  Purple  Lotus  were  drawn  up 
before,  his  woodmen  behind  him.  He  drew  his 
sword. 

"  Forward,  children  of  the  Rising  Sun ! "  he  shouted. 
"Forward  for  your  homes,  forward  for  your  freedom! 
Death  to  the  Matsuyama!" 

"Death  to  the  Matsuyama!"  repeated  the  men, 
clashing  and  clanking  through  the  brake.  The  cry 
rippled  and  re-echoed  over  the  water. 

"Death  to  the  Matsuyama!"  it  thundered  back 
over  the  stream  from  those  on  the  opposite  bank. 

The  advance  upon  the  stronghold  of  the  enemy 
was  begun!  Flashing  bronze,  blue,  and  silver  in  the 
sunlight,  reflecting  dull  upon  sweaty  face  of  yellow 
and  knotty  leg  of  brown  —  snapping  of  twig,  tramp- 
ling of  dry  grass,  parting  of  rustling  reed.  Thus 
moved  the  army  of  the  man  they  called  Little  War- 
rior, on  both  banks  of  the  gentle-flowing  Obigawa 
that  fateful  August  morning. 

Slowly  the  stream  widened,  smaller  grew  the 
sparkling  host  upon  the  other  green  bank.  Noon 
came  and  early  afternoon.  Still  they  marched  on. 

It  was  Yukitaka's  old  eyes  that  saw  them  first. 

"See,  O  leader!"  he  cried  out.  "See  —  the 
Matsuyama!" 


A    BLOW    WITH    THE    SWORD      317 

"Where?"  answered  Rennoske,  following  with  his 
eye  the  pointing  of  the  long-nailed  finger. 

"Yonder,  upon  the  sloping,  treeless  rising,  aye, 
and  a  goodly  number  of  them." 

Rennoske  looked  upon  the  other  bank  of  the  river. 
Drawn  up  in  a  glistening  crescent,  there  stood  the 
fearsome  black  armor,  motionless  and  terrible,  upon 
the  sloping  bank.  Rennoske  gave  the  word  to  halt. 

"Gods!"  Yukitaka  cried.  "Here  are  we  divided 
by  the  stream,  while  they  are  together  in  a  body. 
Fools  we  were  so  to  do!" 

"Thou  forgettest  thyself.  It  is  thus  I  had 
planned.  Watch!" 

He  stepped  to  the  rippling  brink  of  the  river  and 
made  a  trumpet  of  his  hands. 

"O  Takagi!"  rang  out  his  clear  voice.  "O 
Sorrowful  Father.  Hold  them!  Drive  them  back!" 

A  pause,  where  the  breathing  of  the  peasants 
sounded  loud.  "Them  ba-a-a-ack!"  rang  out  the 
echo. 

"We  sta-a-a-and,  0  leader!"  was  wafted  back  over 
the  water.  "We  sta-a-a-a-and,  O  le-e-e-ader!"  rang 
the  vibrating  echo. 

"See!"  came  Yukitaka's  voice.  "The  black  line 
charges!" 

Down  the  hill  the  Matsuyama  thundered.  Fully 
five  hundred  they  must  have  numbered;  their  swords 
flashed  as  they  tore  down,  each  knight  and  squire 


3i8     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

screaming  his  battle-cry.  An  answering  yell  went 
up  from  the  peasants. 

Rennoske  saw  the  Knights  of  the  Purple  Lotus, 
swords  held  point  outward  as  they  ran  in  a  straight 
even  file,  lead  the  returning  charge,  while  his  faithful 
followers  came  quickly  at  their  heels,  brandishing 
their  spears,  axes,  and  clubs,  whirling  their  new- 
found swords.  It  was  divinely  terrible,  terribly 
beautiful. 

But  twenty  feet  separated  the  onrushing  hosts, 
ten — five — gods!  The  rending,  shrieking,  grinding 
of  that  crash  as  they  met! 

The  Knights  of  the  Purple  Lotus  planted  both  feet 
into  the  soft  earth  and  stood  their  ground.  Then, 
the  long  sword  swinging  wide  and  the  short  jabbing 
straight,  they  began  to  kill.  The  line  they  made 
extended  but  forty  yards  from  end  to  end. 

From  behind  each  end,  their  front  protected,  the 
peasants  swarmed.  The  woodmen  came  first.  So 
sudden  was  this  flank  movement  upon  the  black- 
armored  knights  that  it  took  them  entirely  by  sur- 
prise. Before  they  were  fully  aware  of  it,  broadaxes 
were  swinging  about  their  heads,  broadaxes  that  had 
spent  from  ten  to  twenty  years  cutting  down  great 
oaks,  wielded  by  sturdy  arms  that  had  sunk  them  into 
the  juicy  bark.  The  armor  that  could  stand  against 
them  was  not  among  the  host  of  the  Matsuyama! 

The  shepherds  and  the  mountaineers  were  not  far 


A    BLOW    WITH    THE    SWORD      319 

behind.  On  numbers  they  depended,  their  trick 
being  quickly  to  single  out  one  knight,  then  three  at 
him  at  once,  to  make  short  shrift.  One  pole  with 
its  pointed  knife  was  thrust  straight  for  the  throat 
at  the  gorget  lacings,  the  second  aimed  for  the 
armpit,  while  the  third  pried  under  the  jointed 
apron  for  the  groin. 

Many  a  knight  who  served  the  Black  Boar 
regretted  that  he  had  done  so,  for  he  fell  prone  on 
his  face,  bleeding  from  three  simultaneous  wounds 
before  he  had  time  to  raise  his  sword. 

But  the  fight  was  not  altogether  as  one-sided  as 
it  may  seem.  One  advantage  the  Matsuyama  had. 
While  most  of  their  troop  had  charged  down  the 
hill,  there  still  remained  some  upon  its  crest.  The 
archers  these  were,  some  fifty-odd. 

From  their  point  of  vantage  they  poured  down  a 
deadly  rain  into  the  thick  of  the  peasants.  Their 
aim  was  true,  the  target  easy,  for  it  was  simple  to 
single  out  the  many-colored,  moving  mass  among 
the  black. 

To  Rennoske,  on  the  opposite  bank,  all  was  a 
jumble  of  steel,  cloth,  and  armor,  faces,  spears,  and 
helmets,  with  the  deafening  clamor  and  shriek  of  it 
all.  Long  could  he  have  stayed  and  watched  that 
broth  of  carnage  to  see  how  fared  his  beloved  peas- 
ants. Aye  —  how  he  longed  to  be  with  them  in  their 
trial !  But  there  was  work  for  him  to  do. 


320    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Advance,  my  children!"  he  shouted.  "The 
way  to  the  palace  lies  straight  ahead.  Swift  as  the 
morning  wind  —  advance!" 

With  a  shout  they  broke  forward  on  a  run,  their 
hurrying  feet  making  a  thumping  through  the  mud 
and  grass.  As  they  began  their  dash,  from  the 
foremost  runner  to  the  last  straggler,  the  cry  from 
across  the  river  rang  out  for  them  to  hear:  "We 
sta-a-a-and,  O  le-e-e-eader!" 

Onward  they  went! 

Once  again  did  the  Baron  Matsuyama  underesti- 
mate the  cunning  of  his  opponent.  He  had  guarded 
but  one  side  of  the  river,  hearing  from  his  scouts  that 
the  rebellious  peasants  advanced  upon  the  right  side. 
They  had  evidently  been  misled  by  the  fact  that  he 
made  a  camp  there  and  did  not  cross  the  stream. 

A  yell  from  the  archers  on  seeing  the  dash  of 
Rennoske's  band  caused  a  cessation  of  their  deadly 
fire.  Their  commander,  thinking  to  halt  the  running 
division,  bade  his  men  shoot  across  the  river,  at  the 
runners.  Most  of  their  arrows  fell  short,  whereupon 
they  ran  along  the  bank,  shooting  as  they  went. 

Unwittingly,  these  very  archers  sealed  the  doom 
of  their  own  army.  As  has  been  told,  their  arrows 
were  the  most  effective  means  of  holding  in  check 
the  bloodthirsty  peasants.  These  deadly  shafts  ceas- 
ing suddenly,  sword,  spear,  and  broadax  went  at  it 
again  with  redoubled  vigor. 


A    BLOW    WITH    THE    SWORD      321 

Naturally,  the  black-armored  men  looked  to  see 
what  became  of  their  allies  with  bow  and  arrow. 
Some  thought  that  they  fled,  while  others,  divining 
the  true  state  of  affairs,  knew  that  Rennoske  and 
Yukitaka  made  for  the  palace.  Soon  that  cry  went 
through  the  ranks  and  the  archers  were  followed  by 
a  running  band  of  re-enforcements. 

The  turning-point  in  the  fight  was  that  move. 
The  first  file  of  the  Matsuyama  supporters  were 
now  facing  a  doubly  courageous,  death-defying  mass 
of  howling  peasants,  led  by  strange-looking  foreign 
Samurai  who  fought  like  demons. 

They  called  for  aid  —  they  looked  behind  for  that 
aid.  What  did  they  see  but  their  own  former  com- 
panions-in-arms,  stumbling  and  clattering  over  the 
plain,  away  from  them! 

It  was  too  much  for  human  instinct,  too  much  for 
half-hearted  desire,  to  die  for  a  ruler  that  had  not 
been  overzealous  in  looking  after  their  welfare.  By 
twos  and  threes,  dozens  and  scores,  they,  too,  turned 
and  ran! 

After  them,  like  falcons  swooping  upon  their  prey, 
came  the  swifter-footed,  lighter-equipped  peasants, 
cutting  them  down  as  they  fled,  or  taking  them 
prisoners  as  they  flung  away  their  swords  and  cried 
for  quarter. 

Fate  now  played  one  of  her  many  strange  tricks. 
In  the  first  battle,  when  Rennoske  met  defeat  at 


322     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

the  hands  of  the  Black  Boar  at  Hachinohe,  a  small 
tributary  of  a  river  had  been  his  undoing.  It  now 
capped  the  climax  of  the  defeat  of  the  Matsuyama. 
It  was  not  the  same  stream.  They  had  crossed 
it  that  morning,  further  up,  where  it  was  narrow  and 
shallow.  Here,  where  it  flowed  into  the  Obigawa, 
it  was  too  broad  and  deep  for  armored  men  either  to 
swim  or  ford.  Fighting  peasants  behind  them,  the 
stream  ahead,  the  army  of  the  Black  Boar  surren- 
dered in  great  numbers,  while  others  fled  for  safety 
in  the  adjoining  woods. 

But  how  fared  his  men  on  the  right  bank  of  the 
river  was  now  no  concern  of  Rennoske's.  The 
palace  being  his  aim,  he  spurred  his  followers  on  in 
that  mile  and  a  half,  outdistancing  the  arrows,  till  a 
something  rewarded  him. 

That  long,  even  line  of  dark-green  light  and 
shadow,  over  there  to  his  left,  wa's  that  not  the 
famous  grove  of  camphor  trees  that  surrounded  the 
palace  grounds  ?  Those  long,  low  buildings,  tiled  in 
red,  their  bamboo  sides  glistening  in  the  sun  through 
the  trees,  were  they  not  the  very  home  of  the  house 
of  the  Mountain  of  Pines?  Gods  —  at  last! 

As  he  pointed  with  his  sword  and  bade  his  men 
halt  in  their  double-quick,  there  was  borne  to  his 
ears  the  buzzing  of  many  gongs.  A  banner  waved 
among  the  trees  —  steel  glinted  —  he  was  to  have 
a  fight  for  it  then! 


A    BLOW   WITH   THE    SWORD        323 

He  called  a  halt  to  give  his  men  a  breathing  space. 
Behind  him  flowed  the  river,  golden  through  the 
fringe  of  the  green  banks  in  the  sloping  afternoon 
sunlight.  In  a  succession  of  green  waves,  like 
motionless  waves  of  the  sea,  toward  the  long,  even 
line  of  trees,  the  ground  rolled  upward.  These 
trees  crossbarred  the  grouped  buildings,  fountains, 
flowers,  and  blooming  shrubs  behind  them. 

A  road,  or  rather  a  path,  led  down  from  them  to 
the  water's  edge,  where  a  pennon-fluttering  barge 
was  fastened  to  a  stone  quay,  used,  no  doubt,  for 
pleasure  excursions  of  the  court  on  the  river. 

The  shouting  behind  him  on  the  right  bank  came 
intermittent  now  on  the  afternoon  breeze  that  blew 
gently  and  peacefully,  bearing  the  sweet  scent  of 
river  and  meadow  with  it.  The  buzzing  of  the 
gongs,  too,  died  away. 

"Woodmen  to  the  right!  Yeomen  to  the  left!" 
he  cried.  "Knights  of  the  Purple  Lotus,  on  ye  I 
call.  Make  a  square  about  me.  When  they  tire 
from  the  first  shock,  then  will  we  at  them.  But 
hold  ye  the  square.  The  badger  turns  in  his  hole  — 
hold  steady  —  they  come!" 

Come  indeed  they  did,  the  last  of  the  Matsuyama, 
down  the  slope  in  a  flying  wedge.  In  front  the 
banner,  white,  bearing  a  boar's  head  in  black.  There 
might  have  been  fifty  to  a  hundred  of  them,  their 
battle-cries  sounding  shrill.  Soon  each  helmet  and 


324     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

breastplate  was  distinguishable,  here  a  twisted  carp, 
there  a  chrysanthemum  in  gold,  a  white-enameled 
swan  —  a  bronze  tiger's  claw. 

Yet  heraldry  counted  not  for  everything  —  the 
woodmen's  axes  fell  upon  the  crests,  the  swords  and 
spears  of  the  farmers  pried  under  breastplates.  In 
spite  of  this,  the  wedge  moved  ever  forward  toward 
the  square. 

Desperate  men,  these!  To  the  Black  Boar  they 
owed  their  lives  and  their  livelihood.  Slippery  was 
their  ground  if  he  fell.  Each,  like  a  cornered  rat, 
fought  with  every  ounce  of  strength.  The  peasants' 
ranks  were  broken  through  —  they  crossed  swords 
with  the  square! 

Rennoske,  his  nails  sinking  into  the  wood  of  his 
sword-hilt,  stood  with  spread  legs  in  the  midst  of  the 
clattering,  shrieking,  groaning,  cursing  din.  The 
upward  parry  and  downward  sweep  of  a  hundred 
swords  gleamed  and  circled,  white  and  red,  all  about 
him.  Crash  —  thud!  Armor  rattled  at  his  feet. 
A  man  his  own  size  and  stature  stood  before  him. 
Inky  black  was  his  glistening  armor,  a  crimson- 
dripping  sword  he  held  in  both  hands.  Over  his 
helmet,  like  a  monk's  hood,  was  the  skin  of  a  black 
boar's  head,  under  the  tusks  of  which  met  two  black 
brows  over  black,  snapping  eyes.  He  was  face  to 
face  with  the  Black  Boar! 

"Aha  —  the  Imbecile!"  cried  the  usurper  through 


A    BLOW   WITH    THE    SWORD        325 

the  muffling  hair.  "Now  let  me  finish  what  I  began 
in  my  childhood!" 

He  swung  the  sword,  but  the  blow  fell  upon  the 
flat  of  Rennoske's.  There  was  an  answering  cut, 
too  swift  for  the  Black  Boar's  parry.  The  sword 
bit  deep  into  the  black  armor. 

There  was  a  roar  of  pain  from  the  Black  Boar. 
A  light  of  hate  seemed  to  sparkle  like  fire  in  his  eyes, 
while  he  threw  himself  forward  like  a  madman. 

"Matsuyama,  Kuroki  Obutu!"  he  shrieked. 

Somehow  the  name,  the  familiar  voice,  caused  a 
shiver  to  run  through  Rennoske's  frame.  The 
helmet  was  a  ton  on  his  head,  the  breastplate  was 
smothering  him.  What  was  that  which  seemed  to 
turn  his  brain  into  solid  ice,  the  blood  in  his  veins 
to  icy  water?  He  tried  to  raise  his  arms.  Gods! 
He  could  not! 

Quick  as  the  darting  tongue  of  a  snake,  the  Black 
Boar  saw  his  advantage.  He  circled  the  sword  over 
his  head  and  brought  it  down  with  all  his  strength 
upon  Rennoske's  helmet. 

The  brass  was  cloven  in  two,  each  half  fell  clatter- 
ing to  the  ground.  A  thin,  bloody  gash  showed 
through  the  hair  on  Rennoske's  scalp! 

Again  the  Black  Boar's  sword  circled,  again  he 
swung  with  all  his  strength.  The  blow  fell  —  but 
on  the  flat  of  the  sword ! 

For  like  the  fire  of  a  thousand  suns  upon  the  ice 


326     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

of  a  glacier,  the  ice  of  Rennoske's  brain  melted; 
boiling  water  was  in  his  veins.  A  name,  unknown, 
unremembered,  sprang  to  his  lips.  He  screamed. 

"  Ackagawa,  Rennoske!" 

"Gods,  he  knows!"  cried  the  Black  Boar. 

That  was  all  he  said,  for  in  a  twinkling  Rennoske's 
sword  cut  clean  through  the  boar's  skin,  helmet, 
and  skull.  The  Black  Boar  whirled,  fell  on  his 
shoulder,  turned,  writhed,  twisted  —  then  he  lay 
still. 


Chapter  XXFII 

Red  River  and  Mountain  of 
Pines 

UNDER  a  heavy  canopy  of  crimson  velvet, 
brocaded  with  gold  and  silver  thread  in  odd, 
fantastic  designs  representing  the  deeds  of 
warriors,  seated  upon  a  rug  composed  of  the  single 
skin  of  a  huge  tiger,  was  Rennoske,  hereditary 
Daimyo  of  the  province. 

Hereditary  Daimyo  of  the  province!  He  had  been 
that  since  his  twelfth  year;  now  he  was  in  his  twenty- 
first  and  but  for  a  week  had  he  known  it.  For  the 
blow  of  the  Black  Boar's  sword,  the  same  sword  that 
had  caused  his  malady,  cured  it  by  an  odd  surgical 
trick. 

Daimyo  of  the  province  at  last!  Was  it  really 
true?  He  looked  about  the  long  room  with  its 
heavy,  hand-woven  matting  of  sweet-smelling  grass, 
its  hangings  of  lavender  silk,  its  lamps  of  suspended 
glass  on  coral  strings  that  jingled  and  tinkled  in  the 
soft  morning  wind. 

The  Sorrowful  Father  bent  over  a  couch  in  the 


328     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

farthest  alcove,  where  lay  his  wounded  son,  the  son 
that  had  fought  with  the  Black  Boar  in  that  last 
dying  rally.  The  wound,  a  fleshy  one  in  the  shoul- 
der, did  not  look  dangerous,  and  the  father  sat  and 
watched  with  forgiving  eyes. 

At  Rennoske's  left,  a  green  inkhorn  and  many 
brushes  before  him,  squatted  an  engrossed  Yukitaka, 
busily  engaged  in  writing  on  a  scroll  of  rice  paper  a 
new  code  of  laws. 

The  prince,  for  now  he  was  again,  sat  thinking  of 
the  many  events  that  had  happened  since  he  regained 
the  throne  of  his  childhood  that  had  been  stolen  from 
him. 

Takagi  and  the  Sorrowful  Father,  as  is  known,  had 
routed  and  completely  defeated  the  army  of  the 
Matsuyama  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Obigawa. 
Those  that  had  surrendered  came  along  with  the 
victorious  peasants  and  asked  permission  from 
Rennoske  to  gather  by  the  old  stronghold  of  the 
furious  Fifty  to  discuss  the  unexpected  event  of 
serving  a  new  Daimyo,  who  turned  out  to  be  the 
legitimate  ruler  of  the  province. 

They  sent  out  emissaries  to  their  fellows  who  had 
fled,  calling  them  back  to  look  the  new  situation  in 
the  face.  The  new  Daimyo,  being  no  peasant  at  all, 
it  altered  matters  in  the  eyes  of  these  born  aristo- 
crats. It  came  suddenly  to  their  minds  how  grossly 
they  had  been  fooled  by  the  Matsuyama. 


MOUNTAIN    OF    PINES  329 

After  all,  a  Daimyo  was  a  Daimyo  to  them,  be  he 
House  of  the  Red  River  or  Mountain  of  Pines. 
What  was  the  difference  so  long  as  they  received 
their  koku,  the  so-and-so  many  bags  of  rice  per  year 
for  their  wives  and  families?  A  vote  was  taken,  and 
it  was  the  unanimous  verdict  of  the  whole  three 
hundred  of  them  to  offer  allegiance  to  the  Ackagawa 
by  presenting  their  swords  and  service  at  the  feet  of 
the  Prince  Rennoske. 

A  feast  was  cleverly  ordered,  where  victorious 
peasant  and  defeated  Samurai  sat  down  side  by  side. 
At  this  banquet  Rennoske  offered  to  grant  knight- 
hood to  any  who  would  swear  lifelong  fealty  to 
him,  for  his  army  was  wofully  lacking  in  numbers. 
Twenty  fishers,  ten  yeomen,  and  thirty  woodmen 
answered  the  call. 

The  climax  was  capped  when  he  put  them  in  charge 
of  the  born  Samurai,  to  be  taught  the  gentle  art  of 
both  manners  and  warfare.  Then  he  sent  the  entire 
combined  force  of  peasant-knight  and  born  noble 
against  the  Baron  Matsuyama,  who  had  taken  refuge 
in  his  forest  stronghold.  It  was  for  their  return 
he  was  now  waiting. 

Little  by  little  the  greater  body  of  the  peasants 
were  returning  to  their  homes.  The  godowns,  the 
great  mud  storehouses,  were  thrown  open  to  them 
and  every  man  given  as  many  bags  of  rice  as  he 
could  carry,  together  with  a  handful  of  shining 


330    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

yen  and  a  promise  of   lifelong  exemption  from  the 
provincial  land-tax. 

Takagi,  too,  and  his  fifty  coolies  had  departed, 
for  he  had  found  his  daughter,  the  unhappy  wife,  and 
now  the  happy  widow,  of  one  of  the  Black  Boar's 
slain  knights.  He  had  refused  Rennoske's  offer  of 
a  place  in  the  kingdom,  saying  that  a  restored 
daughter  and  the  knowledge  that  his  tea  plantations 
would  be  free  from  devastating  raids  was  reward 
enough. 

The  Sorrowful  Father  had  been  given  the  lands  of 
Yoshida  of  the  Ringing  Bell  and  delicate  palate. 
He  was  to  take  possession  of  them  when  his  son  was 
well  enough  to  be  moved. 

Only  Yukitaka  remained,  old  Yukitaka,  in  whose 
eyes  Rennoske  read  a  knowledge  of  many  things. 
Yukitaka  had  known  who  he  was,  as  Osaki  had;  of 
that  he  felt  certain. 

Under  the  heavy  canopy  of  crimson  velvet,  bro- 
caded with  gold  and  silver  thread,  on  a  perfect  tiger- 
skin,  Rennoske  sat  and  watched  old  Yukitaka  as  he 
mumbled  and  nodded,  the  brush  in  the  long-nailed 
fingers  flying  fast. 

"One  thing  methinks  thou  hast  forgotten,  O 
Yukitaka,"  said  he.  "There  is  a  message  for  the 
land  of  China." 

"To  what  effect,  O  my  prince?" 

"One  Iwashi  and  five  others  dwell  there  as  slaves, 


MOUNTAIN    OF    PINES  331 

if  they  are  living.  Let  the  next  ship  bear  their 
ransoms,  for  they  are  the  crew  of  the  Maya  Maru, 
owned  once  by  the  dead  seal-hunter  who  befriended 
me.  Befriended  and  helped  me,  though  he  was 
mine  enemy,  befriended  me  against  his  will,  because 
he  knew  me  to  be  the  prince.  It  is  thus  that  I 
would  but  poorly  repay  him." 

"It  shall  be  done.  Would  you  deign  to  write  the 
letter  to  the  Daimyo  of  the  Purple  Lotus  ? " 

"Nay,  for  that  I  will  trust  thee,  being  better  at 
the  letters  than  I  am.  Thou  canst  tell  him  I  send 
back  the  knights,  now  but  seven  and  fifty,  having 
lost  twelve.  As  a  gift  there  shall  be  the  twelve 
wagonloads  of  rice,  each  drawn  by  four  snow-white 
oxen  —  say,  too,  I  will  keep  the  sword  and  armor  as 
a  token  of  his  kindness,  and  that  he  may  ever  call 
upon  me  for  aid  should  trouble  beset  him." 

"Spoken  well  and  truly,  O  my  prince,"  answered 
Yukitaka,  with  a  grave  nod.  "Can  I  write  it  as 
well,  it  shall  be  a  noble  message." 

And  the  brush  between  them,  the  long-nailed 
fingers  danced  over  the  paper. 

Dinner  over,  and  still  Rennoske  sat,  still  Yukitaka 
wrote.  Outside  the  carved  and  gilded  posts  that 
held  up  the  roof  of  red  slate-tiles,  the  bees  droned 
among  the  hollyhocks,  while  the  fountain  in  the 
broad  stone  court  shone  pearly  in  the  afternoon  sun. 

Not  a  moving  figure  was  seen  among  the  gardens 


332     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

of  stunted  trees,  the  fantastically  trimmed  hedges 
and  the  star-formed,  crescent  and  circular  flower 
beds,  that  at  even  distances  from  each  other,  blazed 
brilliant  in  the  sunlight  in  variegated  hues. 

"Hoi!  hoi!  hoi!"   sounded  through  the  trees. 

Rennoske's  eyes  brightened,  Yukitaka's  hand 
stopped. 

"Hoi!  hoi!  hoi!"  it  came  again,  a  second's  pause 
between  each  cry,  the  last  louder  than  the  one  before 
it.  The  staccato  shouting  reached  a  crescendo  out- 
side the  posts,  and  a  palanquin,  borne  by  six  tall 
Koreans,  halted. 

The  gilded  shafts  were  set  down  by  the  twelve 
sturdy  arms.  From  under  silken  curtains  a  white- 
stockinged  foot  was  thrust  out  of  the  litter.  Another 
followed  it.  Soon  a  stiff,  black  haori  over  a  black 
kimono  came  next,  a  tall  man  wearing  them  stood 
up,  straightened  himself,  and  with  a  majestic  air 
walked  between  the  carved  pillars,  while  he  slowly 
fanned  himself. 

Thinner  was  the  long  black  mustache,  more 
wrinkled  the  aristocratic  and  haughty  face.  There 
was  a  marked  mixing  of  glossy  black  silk  in  the  elab- 
orately dressed  topknot,  a  shininess  to  the  shaven 
head.  Yet  the  skull  was  as  well-formed,  the  eyes  as 
fiery,  the  thin-lipped  mouth  as  firm  and  cruel.  Ten 
years  had  made  but  little  difference  in  the  face  of 
His  High  Excellency  the  Baron  Matsuyama. 


MOUNTAIN    OF    PINES  333 

"Thou  sittest  in  high  places,  peasant,"  said  he  to 
Rennoske  in  biting  tones.  He  bowed  not,  but  stood 
erect  as  he  had  entered. 

"Surly  as  ever  thou  art,  O  king  of  foxes,"  answered 
Rennoske  suavely.  "Is  it  thus  thou  wouldst  sue 
for  peace?" 

"'Thou,'  not  me!"  roared  the  other.  "I  am  His 
High  Excellency  the  Baron  Matsuyama!" 

"And  'thou'  not  me!"  answered  Prince  Rennoske 
haughtily.  "Bow  thy  head  to  the  earth.  No  peas- 
ant am  I.  I  am  Rennoske,  Prince  of  the  Ackagawa!" 

Terrible  must  have  been  the  struggle  within  the 
baron's  soul  by  the  expression  of  his  face.  Con- 
sternation that  Rennoske  knew  his  name  and  birth- 
right was  written  there.  Hatred,  bred  of  many 
years,  shone  from  his  fine  eyes.  Yet  slowly  those 
eyes  lowered  under  Rennoske's  imperious  gaze, 
slowly  the  knees  bent  until  the  baron  lay  face  between 
palms  prone  on  the  matting. 

"You  have  sent  for  me,  O  prince,"  he  mumbled. 
"I  am  here,  a  crushed  and  forsaken  old  man.  What 
would  you  of  me  ? " 

"Rise,  wolf  that  now  whines  because  he  is  tooth- 
less," said  Rennoske  in  a  stinging  tone,  still  squat- 
ting on  the  rug,  arms  akimbo.  "I  would  many 
things  of  thee,  O  high  excellency.  There  are  ques- 
tions —  I  look  for  answers.  Hast  swallowed  thy 
spleen?" 


334    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

The  baron  rose  to  his  feet  again,  wearily  it  seemed. 
He  nodded  assent,  stroking  his  long  black  mustache. 

"First,  O  Pine  Mountain  snake,  where  is  my 
mother?" 

"Thy  mother?"  echoed  his  high  excellency  as  if 
in  answer  to  a  ridiculous  question.  "I  recall  not  thy 
mother." 

"Gods!"  cried  Rennoske  in  a  rage.  "A  pair  of 
white  hot  pincers  on  thy  toes  would  perhaps  make 
thee  more  civil.  They  are  to  be  had  and  quickly  — 
answer  me!" 

The  baron  shivered,  his  eyes  rolled. 

"Thy  mother  is  even  now  among  the  blessed 
saints,"  he  faltered.  "She  died  soon  after  Hida 
took  thee  hence." 

"Aye  —  and  at  thy  filthy  hands!" 

"Nay  —  by     the    gods     of    my     ancestors     I 
swear  — " 

"Silence!  There  is  no  oath  sacred  from  thy  lips. 
It  is  not  in  me  to  believe  aught  that  thou  sayest. 
Yet  dead  I  thought  she  must  be.  What  wouldst 
thou?" 

The  baron  looked  as  if  he  would  ask  a  question,  he 
cringed  and  bent  low. 

"There  was  a  woman,"  he  whined.  "One 
Madame  Golden  Glow.  Did  it  so  happen  that  your 
sublime  highness  saw  aught  of  her?  Old  she  was, 
while  a  dwarf — " 


MOUNTAIN    OF    PINES  335 

"Enough,"  snapped  Rennoske.  "It  pleases  me 
to  say  that  both  the  hag  and  the  apelike  thing,  her 
companion,  lie  strangled  in  a  rotting  shoji  on  the 
marsh  that  lies  by  the  white  road  to  Boruku  —  unless 
the  crows  have  made  a  meal  of  them." 

There  was  the  faintest  trace  of  a  tear  in  the  baron's 
eyes,  the  slightest  trembling  of  his  lip. 

"She  meant  to  serve  me,"  he  muttered,  while 
Rennoske  listened  with  interest.  "Her  power  was 
waning,  she  thought,  and  after  the  dwarf  came  out 
of  his  sickness  and  he  told  her  where  your  highness 
lay  hidden,  she  went  to  fetch  you,  unknown  and 
unbidden  by  me. 

"Yet  did  I  learn  of  the  mountainside  shoji  where 
you  dwelt,  or  one  near  it,  so  I  sent  a  company  of 
knights  thither.  Poor  fool!  When  they  reached 
there  they  found  you  gone.  It  is  to  her  you  owe 
your  life,  for  in  thinking  to  aid  me,  she  bungled  my 
plans  and  all  the  soldiers  found  in  that  shoji  was  — " 

"Was  a  defenseless  man  and  woman,  whom  they 
slew,  and  a  gentle  maiden  whom  they  stole,  and  then 
burned  the  house  to  the  ground,"  interrupted  Ren- 
noske, suddenly  remembering  the  enormity  of  his 
wrongs  at  this  man's  hands.  "It  is  thus  that  I 
would  question  thee.  Where  is  the  maiden  they 
call  Kiku  San?" 

The  baron  laughed. 

"You  speak  in  riddles,  0  prince.     Kiku  San  —  I 


336    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

know  no  Kiku  San.  What  have  I  to  do  with  the 
lusts  of  the  Samurai  that  were  once  in  my  pay.  No 
woman  dwells  in  my  palace  by  that  name." 

"Fiend!"  cried  Rennoske,  springing  to  his  feet 
and  snatching  a  short  dagger  from  his  sash.  "Tell 
me  where  lodges  the  girl  or  I  will  deny  thee  the  honor 
of  death  at  thine  own  hands.  Where  is  my  heaven- 
sent betrothed?" 

"Your  betrothed,"  answered  the  baron  calmly. 
"Why  did  you  not  say  so  before?  Your  betrothed, 
indeed  —  safe  she  is  in  my  palace  awaiting  but  the 
word  that  makes  her  your  wife." 

Rennoske's  upraised  arm  fell  limp  at  his  side.  He 
breathed  deeply. 

"I  thank  thee  for  this  crumb  of  comfort,"  he  said 
thickly.  "  For  once  thou  hast  spared  me  when  thou 
couldst  have  struck." 

"Your  betrothed,"  the  baron  went  on  in  pleasant 
tones,  "that  is  another  matter.  It  was  upon  this 
subject  I  came  to  visit  your  supreme  highness,  though 
an  army  howled  outside  for  my  blood.  The  goddess 
of  beauty  herself  could  not  be  more  fair.  Health 
sits  upon  each  cheek  and  sparkles  bright  from  her 
eyes." 

"And  is  she  sad  or  cheerful?"  asked  Rennoske,  his 
anxiety  getting  the  better  of  his  hate. 

"Sad  always,"  answered  the  baron.  "Does  she 
not  long  for  you?" 


MOUNTAIN    OF    PINES  337 

"Aye,"  the  prince  sighed.  "Thus  was  it  ever, 
though  I  was  blind  to  the  cause." 

"Now  do  you  talk  like  a  true  son  of  the  Red 
River,"  continued  the  baron,  fanning  himself  slowly. 
"An  anxiety  for  your  betrothed  is  but  natural.  Now 
talk  you  like  a  true  prince.  Long  may  you  reign  in 
peace.  Is  this  not  better  than  talk  of  unknown 
geisha?  Is  this  not  better  than  prating  of  one 
Kiku  San?" 

Rennoske  felt  like  a  man  awakening  on  a  bed  of 
silk  to  find  a  serpent  coiled  about  his  neck. 

.  "What  meanest  thou,  smiling  villain?  One  mo- 
ment thou  talkest  of  my  betrothed,  and  then  again 
dash  my  hopes  to  earth.  Speak  plainly!" 

The  baron,  ruffled,  drew  back  from  Rennoske's 
face  that  peered  close  to  his. 

"Plain  enough  I  speak,"  answered  his  high  excel- 
lency. "You  ask  for  your  betrothed.  I  tell  you 
she  is  sound  and  well.  I  know  of  no  Kiku  San  or 
of  any  betrothal  of  your  imbecility.  I  mince  not 
words.  When  I  say  your  betrothed,  thus  do  I 
mean." 

Rennoske  laughed  wildly. 

"It  is  thou  now  who  art  the  imbecile,"  he  cried. 
"To  whom  am  I  betrothed  if  it  is  not  to  Kiku  San?" 

The  baron  fluttered  his  fan  against  his  silk-clad 
chest,  ten,  fifteen,  twenty  times.  Then  came  his  icy 
voice. 


338     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"I  forget  your  memory  failed  you,  O  prince.  I 
recall  the  day  perfectly.  Your  father  stood  for 
you,  the  commander  of  his  Samurai  was  the  middle- 
man, while  I  stood  for  my  niece,  your  betrothed,  the 
Princess  Misono  San." 

At  first  the  whole  thing  struck  Rennoske  as  a 
huge  comedy.  He,  the  Daimyo,  betrothed  before 
he  understood  the  meaning  of  the  word  ?  And  who 
was  the  Princess  Misono  San? 

He  had  an  odd  memory  of  a  saucy  child  who  threw 
a  teacup  at  her  nurse.  It  was  all  too  insanely 
ridiculous  for  a  second  thought.  And  yet  — 

His  father  had  made  the  bargain  —  that  made  it 
sacred.  There  were  witnesses  —  iron-bound  custom 
raised  its  horrid  head  to  cry,  "You  must!"  No,  no, 
no,  he  could  not! 

"Listen,  son  of  the  Ackagawa!" 

The  baron's  cold  voice  sounded  through  the  chaos 
of  his  brain. 

"The  peasants  flocked  to  your  standard  when  you 
raised  it  against  me.  Yet  did  they  all  follow?  Think 
you  none  were  with  us  ?  We  did  not  grind  all,  many 
were  stanch  to  our  black. 

"What  do  these  think  of  you?  What  do  our 
knights  of  the  Samurai  think  of  you?  Like  a  tiger 
behind  a  screen  will  there  be  ever  the  growlings  of 
revolt.  A  miserable,  hunted  life  will  you  lead,  and 
to  crush  down  the  spirit  of  those  who  would  turn 


MOUNTAIN    OF    PINES  339 

against  you,  will  you  oppress  and  punish  —  aye  — 
and  slay  even  as  we  have  done." 

"Stop,  stop,  stop!"  cried  the  prince.  "I  would 
hear  no  more!" 

But  the  baron  was  not  to  be  silenced. 

"Look  into  my  face,  son  of  the  Ackagawa." 

Rennoske  looked. 

"See  the  lines  of  care,  see  the  sleepless  nights  in 
mine  eyes.  See  the  days  of  terror  on  my  lips.  Thus 
will  it  be  with  you,  ever  half  upon  a  fence  of  bamboo, 
fearing  to  turn  this  way  or  that  lest  it  break  beneath 
you.  Thus  will  it  be  with  you,  son  of  the  Ackagawa 
—  thus  will  it  be  with  you!" 

"It  is  not  true!  Tell  me  it  is  not  true,  O  Yuki- 
taka!"  shrieked  Rennoske,  turning  to  the  old 
student. 

But  Yukitaka  was  silent. 

"Like  a  single  path  through  the  heaped-up 
snows  of  a  mountain,  there  is  a  clear  way  out." 
The  baron  was  speaking  again.  "Marry  my  niece 
as  your  father  intended.  Marry  my  niece  as  I 
would  have  had  you  do,  had  I  the  last  ten  years 
of  my  life  to  live  again.  Then  will  the  houses  of 
the  Red  River  and  the  Mountain  of  Pines  be 
joined  together  in  harmony,  and  the  kingdom  will 
dwell  in  peace." 

"Thy  way  to  heaven  lies  through  perdition," 
Rennoske  cried  out  in  agony.  "Out,  out  of  my  sight, 


340     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

king  of  foxes,  lying,  tempting,  slandering  devil !  Thy 
path  alone  lies  clear!" 

"And  I  will  take  it,  O  prince,"  the  baron  answered 
calmly.  "The  sword  of  the  Matsuyama  is  not  yet 
sheathed.  Remember  that,  0  son  of  the  Ackagawa. 
Remember  that!" 

Slowly  fanning  himself,  the  Baron  Matsuyama 
stalked  majestically  through  the  carved  posts  and 
back  to  the  litter.  Soon  the  hoi  of  the  carriers  echoed 
through  the  still  evening  air,  fainter  and  fainter. 
Then  it  died  away,  drowned  by  the  droning  of  the 
bees  and  the  gentle  rustle  of  the  leaves  of  the  lilac 
bushes. 

Yukitaka  still  wrote.  The  Sorrowful  Father 
watched  his  sleeping  son.  Rennoske,  his  face  like 
stone,  sat  under  the  heavy  canopy  of  crimson  velvet, 
brocaded  with  gold  and  silver  thread  in  odd,  fantas- 
tic designs,  representing  the  deeds  of  warriors. 


,.;•;     Chapter  XX F 711 

An  Honorable  Ceremony  of 
Marriage 

THE  great  stone  court  before  the  palace  that 
held  the  throne-room  shone  with  myriad- 
colored  globes.  They  were  the  thousand 
feast  lanterns,  that  hung,  row  on  row,  like  glow- 
worms against  the  soft  blue  shades  of  night.  They 
glimmered  among  the  camphor  trees;  they  cast  more 
fantastic  shadows  behind  the  fantastic  hedges.  They 
shone  mellow  on  the  lilac  bushes  —  reflected,  waver- 
ing images,  in  the  pool  before  the  fountain. 

Under  the  red-tiled  roof,  inside  the  building  itself, 
they  shone  on  variegated  shades  of  silk  of  kimono, 
sash,  and  haori. 

In  the  throne-room  there  was  apparently  a  great 
to-do.  A  hundred  gaily  clad  men  and  women  were 
crowded  into  its  low  length,  with  its  lavender  hang- 
ings and  coral-beaded,  tinkling  lamp.  In  and  out 
among  the  crowd  dainty  maidens  in  blue  went  soft- 
footed,  bearing  lacquer  trays  on  which  were  dainty 
porcelain  cups  filled  with  steaming  rice  wine. 


342     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Old  men  drank  and  bellowed  loudly  for  more. 
Smooth-faced  young  men,  with  crested  haoris,  hand- 
embroidered  with  their  coat-of-arms,  drank,  too. 
Their  narrow-slanting  eyes  were  soon  roving  about 
the  room,  picking  out  the  fairest  of  the  women.  The 
eyes  sparkled  brighter. 

The  dainty  ladies,  too,  sipped  at  the  pretty  cups, 
laughed,  giggled,  and  hissed,  casting  up  shy  little 
glances  over  the  tops  of  their  fans  back  at  the  young 
men  or  lowering  heavy-lashed  lids  again  as  gouty 
husband  beside  them  scowled. 

With  every  lull  in  the  talk  and  the  laughter  the 
monotonous  strumming  of  samisen  and  tsudsume 
rose  and  fell  in  tinkling  waves. 

The  brocaded  canopy  of  crimson  velvet  was  now 
the  background  for  two  figures.  One  was  a  young 
woman  in  a  kimono  of  pale-blue  embroidered  with 
pink  seashells  and  held  together  by  a  pink,  watered 
silk  sash.  In  her  glossy  black  hair  were  many  orna- 
ments of  gold,  set  with  turquoises  and  pink  coral. 
About  her  neck  was  a  fine  iron  chain,  from  which 
dangled  a  single  black  pearl,  the  color  of  her  house. 
For  this  —  with  her  little  upturned  nose,  black-lined 
eyes,  thin  painted  lips,  high  cheek  bones  like  her 
uncle  —  was  the  Princess  Misono  San,  last  of  the 
Matsuyama. 

Beside  her  stood  a  young  man  in  crimson  kimono, 
sash,  and  haori  of  the  purest  raw  silk.  On  his  finger 


CEREMONY    OF    MARRIAGE      343 

gleamed  a  single  ring,  set  with  a  deep  red,  pigeon- 
blood  ruby,  the  color  of  his  house.  For  this,  oval 
and  olive-faced,  frank-eyed  and  smiling,  was  the 
Prince  Rennoske,  last  of  the  Ackagawa. 

They  were  man  and  wife. 

From  the  day  of  that  final  interview  with  the 
Baron  Matsuyama,  the  prince's  brain  had  been  in  a 
turmoil.  Hemmed  in  on  one  side  by  all  the  bars  of 
ancient  custom,  driven  on  the  other  by  Yukitaka 
and  his  talk  that  the  union  would  benefit  both  prince 
and  kingdom,  he  had  wearily  consented  to  the  match, 
silencing  the  old  student's,  "And  we  find  Kiku  San, 
there  is  a  simple  way  out,  for  policy  and  love  have 
never  yet  gone  hand  in  hand." 

There  had  been  the  usual  weeks  of  preparation 
on  the  bride's  part.  Moreover,  there  was  some 
respect  due  to  her  dead  uncle,  self-slain  at  the 
prince's  command.  For  the  times  were  grim  times. 
Had  the  outcome  of  the  rebellion  been  the  other  way, 
Rennoske  felt  sure  he  would  not  have  been  given 
even  this  honor. 

The  groom,  or  those  who  looked  after  his  inter- 
ests, had  been  busy  in  their  own  way.  There  were 
messengers  to  be  sent  abroad  to  all  those  who  were 
rich  or  influential  in  the  country,  inviting  them 
to  the  wedding  feast.  There  were  the  decorations, 
the  food,  and  the  wine,  and  many  other  details  to 
be  looked  after  in  so  important  an  event. 


344     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

At  length  the  day  arrived,  and  there  was  much 
bustling  about  the  stone  court  before  the  lawn  and 
the  flower  beds.  Servant,  Samurai,  and  Saimyo  ran 
in  and  out  of  the  dozen  buildings,  making  ready  the 
coming  of  the  guests. 

All  afternoon  these  poured  in  through  the  stone 
dragons  of  the  great  gate,  borne  thither  in  their 
palanquins.  They  had  been  given  quarters  in  the 
many  shojis  of  the  courtiers,  where  they  ate  and 
drank  until  the  evening. 

Rennoske  remembered  now  that  long  ride  in  his 
litter,  accompanied  by  fifty  knights,  to  the  palace 
of  the  Matsuyama  in  the  woods.  The  princess  was 
waiting  for  him  in  the  great  room,  with  its  black 
lacquered  floor  and  brazen  gongs.  He  saw  the 
stacked  armor  and  the  five-armed  goddess  in  the 
green-lit  alcove. 

The  white  of  the  princess's  robe  seemed  appropri- 
ate in  such  a  place.  To  him  it  represented  real  and 
not  mimic  death.  He  remembered  his  words: 

"I  am  come  to  take  thee  to  the  palace  for  the 
honorable  ceremony  of  marriage,  O  Princess  Misono 
San." 

And  her  answer  as  she  smiled,  scarlet-lipped: 

"And  I  am  ready  to  be  your  bride,  O  Prince 
Rennoske." 

She  rode  back  in  the  litter  with  him.  He  said 
nothing,  nor  did  she. 


CEREMONY    OF    MARRIAGE      345 

There  was  the  procession  through  the  crowd  in 
the  light  of  the  lanterns,  while  they  were  pelted  with 
flowers.  There  were  the  nine  cups  of  sipped  sakkee, 
she  drinking  first  as  his  guest.  There  was  the  arrival 
of  the  Shinto  priest,  with  his  high,  baglike  hat  of 
black  velvet,  and  the  handsome,  richly  clad  boys 
who  held  up  his  long  silken  train,  embroidered  in 
gold  and  silver  thread. 

As  for  the  ceremony  itself,  that  seemed  now  pretty 
much  a  jumble  of  mumbled  words  and  incanta- 
tions. It  was  hard  for  him  to  realize  that  he  was 
eternally  bound  to  this  woman  whom  he  hated. 

The  ring  of  lantern-lit  faces  all  about  him  seemed 
somehow  to  bear  a  leering  expression.  Then,  the 
priests'  mumblings  over,  the  nine  sipped  cups  of 
sakkee  again,  he  drinking  first  as  her  lord  and  master. 

They  were  man  and  wife. 

The  guests  began  to  depart  one  by  one,  the  old, 
gouty  husbands  by  this  time  unable  to  see  the  sly 
glances  of  their  wives,  while  the  young  men  thickly 
whispered  extravagant  pleasantries  that  sounded 
doubly  loud  in  dainty  little  ears. 

All  this  by  the  carved  and  gilded  pillars  that  held 
up  the  roof,  where  the  coolies  came  in  a  seemingly 
never-ending  line  bearing  the  palanquins.  Silk 
rustled,  voices  were  loud,  and  Saianaras  stuttered 
as  unsteady  hands  groped  among  the  silken  cushions. 

By  the  velvet  canopy  there  was  many  a,  "Thou- 


346    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

sand  years  of  happiness  come  to  your  supreme  high- 
nesses!" and  often  repeated,  "May  the  union  of  the 
Ackagawa  and  the  Matsuyama  be  fruitful  and  a 
blessing  to  the  kingdom!"  while  bowing  couple  after 
bowing  couple  passed  before  the  royal  pair. 

Rennoske  bore  up  under  this  as  bravely  as  he 
could.  He  had  always  taken  things  as  they  came, 
with  a  patient  shrug  and  a  light  heart  for  the  mor- 
row. Small  blame  to  him,  though,  when  his  heart 
was  elsewhere,  if  he  found  this  marriage  a  bitter 
draught  to  swallow. 

At  last  the  shouts  of  the  litter  bearers  died  away 
into  the  night,  and  they  were  alone  with  Yukitaka. 
The  old  man  clapped  his  hands,  and  out  of  the  dark- 
ness into  the  light,  feet  pattering  over  the  stone,  the 
Koreans  brought  the  litter  again. 

Rennoske  saw  the  student's  thin  arms  raised  over 
his  head.  He  longed  to  halt  the  benediction  that 
he  knew  was  coming  from  those  lips.  A  blessing 
on  this  union  ?  Nay,  Yukitaka,  speak  it  not  —  it 
is  sacrilege! 

"May  the  light  of  heaven  shine  upon  you  both," 
came  the  old  man's  voice,  slow  and  solemn.  "May 
the  house  of  the  Red  River  and  the  house  of  the 
Mountain  of  Pines  be  ever  at  peace  in  the  loving 
embrace  of  their  two  most  worthy  children. 

"May  the  words  of  an  old  man  rise  like  white 
mist  to  heaven,  and  the  gods  send  it  back  again 


CEREMONY    OF    MARRIAGE     347 

like  pearl-dropping  rain  to  cover  your  house  and 
make  the  flowers  in  the  garden  of  your  lives  bloom 
everlasting." 

"I  thank  thee,  O  counselor,"  said  Misono. 

But  Rennoske,  with  graven  face,  walked  slowly 
toward  the  litter.  Entering  it,  he  called  out: 

"The  lanterns  go  out  —  the  men  wait.  It  is  time 
to  depart." 

"I  follow  where  calls  your  voice,  O  my  husband," 
she  answered. 

Yukitaka,  smiling  broadly,  helped  her  into  the 
litter. 

That  ride  in  the  night!  Rennoske  thought  it  a 
horror.  The  red  August  moon  showed  its  rim  over 
the  distant  mountains,  silhouetting  the  fir  trees 
black-barred  against  it.  There  it  was  again,  the 
red  and  black.  Were  they  not  together,  even  in 
nature  ? 

No,  tomorrow  the  sun  would  shine;  where  would 
the  red  and  black  be  then?  He  looked  out  at  the 
other  side.  There,  a  lurid  speck,  shone  the  bonfire 
that  blazed  before  the  palace  of  the  Baron  Matsu- 
yama  —  the  funeral  fire  of  the  Princess  Misono  San, 
to  show  she  was  dead  to  her  house.  Gods  —  and 
the  trees  of  the  forest  before  it  —  black,  black,  black! 

Rennoske  closed  his  eyes  to  shut  out  the  sight.  A 
scene  came  clearly  to  his  brain.  A  dim  cave,  an  old 
man,  a  Samurai  in  armor  that  watched  a  squirming 


348     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

monkey  on  the  ground.  And  that  scarlet-clad  figure 
of  a  child  that  screamed.  Was  it  not  the  woman 
that  now  sat  beside  him?" 

"We  are  here,  your  highness,"  he  heard  her  say, 
rousing  him  out  of  the  dream  of  his  childhood  that 
puzzled  him.  He  opened  his  eyes. 

The  litter  had  been  halted  before  a  shoji  at  the 
side  of  a  pond,  where  the  wide  leaves  of  water  lilies 
caught  the  yellow  glow,  for  light  shone  through  the 
paper  walls  and  shimmered  on  the  still  water. 

He  got  out  of  the  palanquin  and  let  her  lead  him 
up  the  gravel  path  that  was  flanked  with  moon- 
tinted  hyacinths.  The  door  opened  with  a  clatter. 
Rennoske,  unmindful  of  the  beauty  of  the  scene, 
followed  his  wife  inside  the  shoji.  The  room  was 
small,  for  there  were  other  paper  walls  in  their 
grooves.  From  behind  them  came  muffled  titter- 
ings and  vague,  fluttering  shadows. 

"Deign  to  sit  here,  O  my  husband,"  said  Misono 
San  archly,  pointing  to  a  lambskin  rug  spread  out 
upon  the  matting.  "I  would  change  my  dress  of 
ceremony  for  one  more  fitting  to  ease  and  comfort." 

Bowing  low,  she  turned  to  a  shoji  wall,  slid  it 
back,  and  disappeared  behind  it.  The  titterings 
came  again. 

Rennoske  flopped  down  like  an  automaton  on  the 
lambskin  rug.  His  wedding  night  —  the  irony  of 
it!  He  was  not  given  much  to  midnight  soliloquy 


CEREMONY    OF    MARRIAGE     349 

or  rumination,  but  the  present  situation  struck  him 
as  being  grotesque,  and  he  could  not  but  think 
upon  it.  Here  he  was,  ruler  of  the  land,  supposedly 
infallible,  yet  forced  against  his  will  to  marry  a 
woman  he  hated. 

Was  it  not  laughable  that,  after  all  the  fighting 
and  the  bloodshed,  he  should  capitulate  this  way 
to  the  Matsuyama?  It  seemed  to  him  as  though 
the  black  were  triumphant,  even  though  the  baron 
and  the  Black  Boar  both  lay  moldering  in  their 
graves. 

Sitting  in  silence,  he  tried  his  hardest  to  make  the 
best  of  it.  A  marriage  for  policy's  sake  would  have 
been  nothing  to  trouble  him  if  he  had  not  loved  some 
one  else.  As  it  was,  he  did,  and  knew  that  love  was 
returned. 

In  war  he  had  been  victorious.  In  peace  and  the 
ways  of  peace  it  looked  as  if  the  Matsuyama  were 
triumphant. 

"You  have  seemed  sad,  my  prince."  It  was 
Misono's  voice  beside  him.  She  wore  a  crimson 
kimono,  one  of  his  gifts.  "I  should  prove  an  ill 
wife  indeed  if  I  sought  not  to  cheer  you.  It  is  for 
this  I  bid  my  maidens  wait  on  me  here.  Shall  they 
dance  for  you,  0  my  prince?" 

"Nay,  princess,"  he  answered  wearily.  "It  is  not 
for  geisha  dancing  to  soothe  my  troubled  spirit." 

"Geisha  dancing!"  she  replied,  raising  her  pen- 


3so    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

ciled  eyebrows.  "Nay,  you  cast  a  slur  upon  me.  It 
is  not  for  the  Princess  Misono  of  the  Matsuyama 
and  the  Ackagawa  to  be  attended  by  geisha! 
Maidens  all  are  my  waiting-women,  chosen  for  their 
beauty  and  daintiness.  Shall  not  your  eyes  feast 
upon  them  in  the  dance?" 

"As  thou  wilt,"  he  answered,  stifling  a  yawn. 

The  princess  clapped  her  hands. 

"O  Hana!  O  Haru!"  she  called.  "We  shall 
have  the  Genroku  Odori  for  his  supreme  highness 
—Isoge!" 

Behind  the  paper  walls  was  now  a  bustling.  Soon 
the  rattling  of  them  announced  that  they  were 
being  slid  from  their  grooves.  Rennoske  glanced 
carelessly  up. 

Three  girls  in  brilliant  kimonos  stood  in  the  center 
of  the  room,  under  a  string  of  lanterns.  Two  were 
in  blue  and  one  in  yellow,  while  two  in  purple  sat 
in  the  shadow  of  the  alcove  with  samisens.  He  saw 
the  bows  of  their  sashes  behind  —  the  princess  had 
spoken  the  truth,  they  were  not  geisha.  Hei  — 
what  of  it? 

Soon  the  strumming  of  the  instruments  rang  out 
mournfully.  He  saw  the  slow,  graceful  movements 
of  the  six  arms.  Were  the  postures  pleasing?  He 
knew  not.  Were  the  smiles  bright?  He  cared  not. 
In  a  sort  of  half-awakened  state,  like  a  man  hear- 
ing a  sound  blown  by  an  occasional  wind  across  a 


CEREMONY    OF    MARRIAGE     351 

silent  lake,  he  listened  to  the  song  as  one  of  the  girls 
droned  it  forth. 

Ever  before  me, 

His  haunting  eyes  I  see.     Wo 

Shall  come  upon  me, 

If  I  wander  far  or  near. 

Gods!  Was  this  to  cheer  him,  this  whine  of  haunt- 
ing eyes  that  haunted  him  day  and  night,  since  the 
clash  of  arms  had  ceased  ? 

Stark  lies  he  in  death, 

My  lover's  sword  hath  slain  him. 

In  winter's  cold  snows; 

In  summer's  glow;  in  springtime, 

His  eyes  shall  haunt  me! 

The  song-story  went  on  in  the  same  dreary  mono- 
tone, to  tell  of  the  beauteous  one  who  sought  happi- 
ness wandering  with  her  swash-bucklering  lover,  yet 
never  happy,  pursued  by  the  eyes  of  the  man  he 
had  killed  in  a  quarrel  over  her. 

And  now  in  this  cave, 
In  silent  meditation, 
I  seek  to  retrieve, 
My  life  in  sorrow  shaken! 

A  shrill  scream  rang  out! 

Rennoske  had  a  momentary  flash  of  a  purple 
shimmer  in  the  lantern  light.  Then  a  deeper  purple 
engulfed  him  and  a  body  fell  over  his. 

Arms  held  tightly  about  his  neck.  There  was  a 
thud  on  his  shoulder,  a  screaming  and  pattering 


352     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

of  hurried  feet.  The  thing  about  his  neck  groaned 
and  then  lay  limp. 

Quickly  snatching  away  the  clinging  arms,  he 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  turned  from  the  fleeing 
damsels.  The  Princess  Misono  San  stood  before 
him.  Her  eyebrows  were  raised,  eyes  gleaming, 
nostrils  quivering.  The  expression  of  her  face  was 
diabolical.  He  saw  why  her  arms  were  upraised 
behind  her  head.  There,  the  hilt  in  her  dainty 
hands,  hung  the  heavy  blade  of  a  sword! 

It  was  but  the  work  of  a  second  to  grip  her  firmly 
by  the  wrists  and  bend  her  arms  behind  her.  His 
face  was  close  to  hers. 

"It  is  with  a  dance  of  death  thou  wouldst  enter- 
tain me,  O  princess,"  he  whispered.  "Strange  must 
be  the  hatred  that  kills  upon  the  bridal  night." 

"Let  me  go!  Let  me  go!"  she  screamed.  "Thy 
flesh  creeps.  Thou  hast  a  demon.  Let  me  go,  I 
say!" 

Still  he  held  her  fast,  while  her  screams  rang  out 
in  the  night.  Somewhere  in  the  back  of  his  brain 
that  scream  called  up  an  answering  echo. 

The  scene  was  the  dark  cave  again,  an  old  man 
watched,  an  armor-clad  soldier,  a  monkey,  and  the 
talk  of  death.  Misono  San's  was  the  scream  of 
hatred  and  disappointment  as  now. 

"Who  hath  told  thee  to  do  this,  or  is  it  thine 
own  invention?"  he  asked. 


CEREMONY    OF    MARRIAGE     353 

Her  breath  coming  in  choking,  hysterical  gasps, 
she  answered: 

"You  will  let  me  go,  if  I  tell?" 

"Aye." 

"Then  I  swore  to  mine  uncle  the  baron  on  the 
day  he  died,  to  slay  you.  I  wiped  the  sword  of  our 
house  clean  of  his  blood  and  vowed  upon  it  that 
it  should  next  be  stained  by  yours.  But  you  have 
a  demon  who  guards  you.  Thrice  have  they  slain 
you,  only  to  find  you  living  again.  Let  me  go! 
Let  me  go!  Let  me  go!" 

But  if  anyone  possessed  a  demon  it  was  the 
Princess  Misono  San,  for  now  she  had  lost  all  control 
of  herself.  She  lashed  and  twisted  like  a  slim  palm 
in  a  typhoon,  while  her  screams  rent  the  air. 

Rennoske  released  his  hold.  With  a  terrible  swift- 
ness she  ran  to  the  door,  swung  at  it  with  her 
sword,  cleaving  a  great  V  in  the  paper,  through 
which  she  leaped  head  first. 

Again  she  screamed  outside,  then  once  again; 
but  the  second  was  fainter  than  the  first.  A  third 
and  a  fourth  time  the  piercing  cry  rang  out  —  yet 
the  last  was  far  away. 

Rennoske  listened  —  he  heard  it  once  more.  Was 
that  a  splash  in  the  water  that  followed  it? 

There  had  been  another  attempt  upon  his  life, 
even  while  he  was  the  Daimyo.  Would  the  assassins 
never  rest?  Yet  through  all  the  strife  and  turmoil 


354    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

of  it  a  voice  of  hope  sounded  like  the  throbbing  of 
a  single  string. 

Misono  San  was  gone.  Dead  or  deserting  him, 
Misono  San  was  gone  forever  out  of  his  life.  The 
last  bond  between  him  and  the  Matsuyama  had 
snapped! 

An  attempt  had  been  made  upon  his  life  Ren- 
noske  knew;  but  who  was  it  that  had  saved  him? 
The  dancers  had  fled,  yet  he  felt  sure  one  of  them 
had  done  the  helping  deed,  one  of  the  two  in  the 
alcove,  for  he  distinctly  saw  the  purple  kimono  come 
toward  him.  A  low  moan  at  his  feet  caused  him  to 
look  down. 

In  the  dim  light,  for  four  of  the  six  lanterns  had 
been  blown  out  by  the  inrushing  wind  from  the 
gash  in  the  door,  he  saw  a  huddled  purple  figure  on 
the  floor. 

How  came  she  to  save  him?  he  thought,  as  he 
stooped  down  to  her,  for  she  lay  upon  her  face. 
From  the  alcove  she  had  probably  seen  the  upraised 
arm  of  the  princess,  and  out  of  pity,  sudden  affec- 
tion, patriotism  —  who  could  fathom  a  woman's 
sudden  impulse? 

He  touched  her  shoulder  and  gently  turned  her 
over.  Light  —  light  —  he  must  have  light!  Gods! 
What  was  this  warm  and  wet  upon  his  hand  — 
blood?  Could  she  live?  She  must!  Where  was 
the  light? 


CEREMONY   OF    MARRIAGE       355 

Reaching  high  his  hand,  he  snatched  one  of  the 
lanterns  from  its  string.  With  trembling  fingers  he 
held  it  close  to  the  girl's  face.  The  yellow  glow 
behind  the  paper  flickered  through  the  bamboo-fiber 
ribs,  flickered  through  the  yellow  paper  —  on  the 
pale,  upturned  face  of  Kiku  San. 


Chapter  XXIX 
A  Tear  Upon  a  Painted  Saucer 

WHEN  would  this  end?  Such  a  to-do 
about  a  dozen  pigs!  Yet  Rennoske 
listened  patiently  to  the  bare-legged 
man  before  him,  who  rambled  on  in  a  cracked  voice: 

"Even  my  blind  mother  could  tell,  0  supreme 
highness,  the  spotted  one  was  mine.  The  old  sow 
hath  borne  me  seven  litters,  each  time  twelve  pigs. 
Now  come  twelve  again,  and  in  three  days  but  eleven. 
Search  I  high  and  low,  your  supreme  highness,  even 
in  the  godown  that  hath  not  been  opened  since 
chrysanthemum  time. 

"Then  on  the  Doll's  Festival  pass  I  the  sty  of 
Tamakichi.  Squealing  in  a  corner  do  I  see  my 
spotted  pig,  and  Tamakichi's  sow  hath  thirteen! 
Surely  no  sow  hath  thirteen  pigs.  It  is  but  rare  for 
one  to  have  twelve.  Hath  your  supreme  highness 
ever  heard  of  a  sow  with  thirteen  pigs?  It  is  not 
good." 

"Where  is  thy  sow?"  asked  Rennoske. 

"Outside    the   great   stone    gate,   your   supreme 


A    TEAR    UPON    A    SAUCER       357 

highness,"  the  man  answered  deferentially.  "They 
would  not  let  her  in,  though  this  morning  scrubbed 
I  her  clean  with  hot  water." 

"And  Tamakichi's  sow?" 

"Outside  also,  with  her  twelve  and  my  spotted 
one." 

Rennoske  smiled. 

"Place  thy  sow  and  the  sow  of  Tamakichi's  side 
by  side,"  he  said  with  assumed  gravity.  "One  of 
my  men  will  then  take  this  wondrous  spotted  pig 
and  twist  its  tail  till  it  squeal.  The  sows  will  grunt 
and  call  it.  Hei!  My  man  looses  the  wondrous 
spotted  pig  and  it  will  fly  straight  to  its  real  mother. 
Thus  do  I  decree.  See  that  it  is  done,  0  Raku." 

The  man  stood  dazed  in  open-eyed  awe.  Then 
bowing  to  the  floor  he  mumbled: 

"Your  supreme  highness  has  the  wisdom  of  all 
the  gods  rolled  into  one.  May  you  reign  a  thousand 
years!" 

Raku,  the  knight,  led  him  out,  still  dazed  and 
marveling. 

"And  now  let  us  close  the  business  of  the  day," 
said  Rennoske,  rising  quickly. 

"Might  I  crave  a  moment,  your  supreme  high- 
ness," came  Yukitaka's  voice.  "There  are  the  six 
who  await  to  thank  you  for  their  deliverance." 

"What  six?"  Rennoske  snapped,  evidently 
annoyed. 


358     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Iwashi  and  the  crew  of  the  Maya  Maru." 

"Admit  them  then,"  answered  the  prince,  sitting 
again  petulantly. 

The  sailors  were  brought  in.  Loud  were  their 
thanks  for  their  release.  They  blessed  the  bamboo 
poles  that  had  whacked  their  heads,  for  were  it  not 
for  them,  they  might  never  have  seen  the  heaven- 
sent ruler  who  freed  them  from  slavery  in  an 
accursed  land. 

Rennoske  thanked  them  each  and  bade  them  not 
praise  him,  but  the  dead  man  who  had  been  their 
captain.  He  gave  orders  that  each  should  be  given 
money  and  a  letter  of  high  merit,  which  he  would 
sign,  and  so  dismissed  them  with  his  praises  high  on 
their  lips. 

Once  again  Yukitaka  balked  Rennoske's  plans  for 
closing  the  audience.  There  was  a  dispute  over  a 
milldam  that  took  an  hour,  another  controversy 
over  a  stolen  ox.  He  settled  them  as  quickly  as 
he  could,  yet  the  sun  was  sinking  over  the  red-tiled 
roof,  making  long  the  shadows  of  the  hollyhocks, 
when  all  the  business  was  through. 

"At  last,"  he  cried,  stretching  himself,  alone 
with  Yukitaka.  "Now  for  the  best  hour  of  the 
day.  Does  my  litter  wait  by  the  fountain,  Owl 
Eyes?"  he  asked,  tapping  the  old  student  familiarly 
on  the  shoulder.  "Indeed,  a  long  stay  have  they 
had." 


A    TEAR    UPON    A    SAUCER       359 

"A  longer  while  must  they  tarry  ere  they  return," 
answered  the  old  man  slyly. 

"Nay,  not  so  long,"  guiltily  replied  the  prince. 
"But  an  hour  or  so." 

"H-m,"  Yukitaka  grunted.  "Time  flies  fast  at 
the  shoji  by  the  Pond  of  the  Lilies.  Too  fast,  me- 
thinks,  for  the  good  of  the  state." 

"What  meanest  thou?"  Rennoske  snapped, 
bristling. 

Yukitaka  paused,  then  let  fly  the  shaft. 

"I  mean  the  Prince  Rennoske  of  the  Ackagawa 
deigns  to  stoop  too  often.  To  comfort  the  sick  is 
well,  yet  there  are  nurses  and  old  women  in  plenty 
to  stay  hours  by  the  side  of  a  wounded  handmaiden. 
It  is  not  the  business  of  the  Daimyo" 

"Durst  thou  so  far  presume?"  thundered  Ren- 
noske. "Before  thou  wert  known  to  high  places,  a 
dweller  among  musty  books,  she  was  beside  me  in 
my  trouble.  Her  tender  hand  made  smooth  the 
places  that  were  rough.  Much  did  I  suffer  for  her 
sake,  much  has  she  borne  for  mine.  Thou  goest 
too  far,  Yukitaka!" 

The  old  student  ran  his  long-nailed  finger  over 
the  top  of  his  fan,  then  he  spoke  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye. 

"Yet  but  a  handmaiden  she  is,  and  you  —  may 
you  reign  a  thousand  years  —  you  are  the  Daimyo!" 

Rennoske    stood    staring    at    him,    lip    between 


360    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

thumb  and  forefinger,  uncertain  as  to  how  he  should 
take  the  speech.  Then  he  laughed  and  answered 
boyishly,  "The  wise  man  is  sometimes  the  fool, 
Yukitaka."  Then  going  to  the  carved  pillars,  he 
cried  out,  "  Hei!  Speed  there  —  bring  the  litter, 
Isoge!" 

Light-hearted,  he  leaped  in,  leaving  Yukitaka  to 
stand  in  the  shadow  of  the  red-tiled  roof,  unnoticed. 

Not  long  did  Rennoske  stay  in  the  shoji  by  the 
Pond  of  the  Lilies.  Neither  did  Yukitaka  stay  long 
unnoticed  in  the  shadow  of  the  red-tiled  roof.  For 
the  wily  old  counselor  managed  to  find  a  dispute 
among  the  old  and  the  new  Samurai  and  sent 
knight  post-haste  to  the  prince  to  settle  it.  Ren- 
noske came  and  smoothed  over  an  exaggerated 
difficulty.  He  went  back  to  the  palace  at  nightfall, 
to  stand  himself  unnoticed  under  the  red-tiled  roof. 

As  for  Yukitaka,  he  turned  the  tables  by  going 
quickly  to  the  shoji  by  the  Pond  of  the  Lilies.  There 
he  found  a  pale-faced  girl  lying  upon  a  padded  bed- 
ding, attended  by  an  old  servant  of  the  court. 

Long  and  earnestly  the  student  of  the  mountains 
talked,  while  the  girl  listened.  She  sobbed  a  little, 
too;  but  the  old  man's  voice  was  so  soft  and  low, 
his  reasoning  so  profound,  that  she  promised  to  do  as 
he  asked,  though,  as  she  said,  it  would  "tear  out 
her  soul."  He  left  with  soothing  words,  a  com- 
placent, satisfied  Yukitaka.  She  remained  in  the 


A    TEAR    UPON    A    SAUCER       361 

shoji  by  the  Pond  of  the  Lilies,  a  gently  weeping 
Kiku  San. 

On  the  following  afternoon  Rennoske  closed  the 
audience  early.  The  restraining  voice  of  old  Yuki- 
taka  was  no  longer  a  hindrance,  for  the  old  scholar 
had  gone  early  that  morning,  leaving  word  that  he 
had  departed  on  "grave  business  of  state."  Prince 
Rennoske  worried  not  a  particle.  If  it  was  "busi- 
ness of  state"  Yukitaka  was  perfectly  capable  of 
handling  it.  If  it  were  "grave,"  then  he  was 
doubly  so,  for  such  a  word  was  not  then  present  in 
the  young  man's  vocabulary. 

At  about  two  o'clock  he  wandered  out  into  the 
garden,  and  from  the  many  brilliant  flower  beds 
gathered  a  bouquet.  He  took  some  time  to  arrange 
it  by  the  cool,  splashing  fountain,  for  the  art  of 
bouquet  making  was  an  important  one.  By  this 
means  were  conveyed  many  tender  messages  and 
many  a  love  note  between  swain  and  maiden. 

At  last,  having  put  it  together  with  sufficient 
"philosophy,"  he  cried  out  to  his  litter  bearers,  who 
waited  his  word.  They  bore  him  away,  spurred  on 
by  an  impulsive  Isoge!  that  sent  their  bare  feet 
pattering  over  grass,  stone,  and  gravel.  It  was  not 
hard  to  guess  the  destination  of  Prince  Rennoske  of 
the  house  of  the  Red  River. 

He  found  Kiku  sitting  up,  her  back  to  a  pillar, 
evidently  stronger,  yet  paler  than  usual.  On  her 


362     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

lap  was  a  porcelain  saucer,  a  palette  and  paints 
beside  her  on  the  matting,  while  a  slender  brush  was 
balanced  between  her  thumb  and  forefinger. 

"See,  your  supreme  highness,"  she  called  as  he 
came  up  the  path,  "my  fingers  have  been  busy 
again,  for  the  pain  has  gone  from  my  arm." 

She  held  up  the  saucer  to  him,  showing  the  daubs 
of  red  and  green  upon  the  white. 

"Is  it  for  me?"  he  asked,  bending  over  her. 

"Nay,"  she  answered.  "The  clumsy  work  of  a 
stupid  girl  is  not  a  fitting  gift  for  him  who  is  the 
Daimyo." 

She  bowed  her  head  as  far  as  her  bandaged  shoul- 
der would  let  her. 

" Hei,  Gentlest  Flower,"  he  cried.  "To  the  sea 
with  talk  of  Daimyo,  Saimyo,  and  Samurai!  I  was 
Little  Warrior  to  thee  once,  let  me  be  Little  Warrior 
still.  Are  my  flowers  well  chosen  ? "  he  asked,  hand- 
ing her  the  bouquet. 

"There  is  thought,  remembrance,  friendship,  and 
gratitude,"  she  answered,  holding  the  flowers  at 
arm's  length.  "And  this  sweet  blossom.  Nay, 
your  supreme  highness  —  I  am  not  worthy  of  that." 

"And  why  not,  Gentlest  Flower?"  he  said,  sitting 
beside  her.  "It  is  not  a  new  thought,  this  one  of 
love.  Did  I  not  tell  it  thee  in  the  rice  fields  of  thy 
father?  Has  it  not  been  ever  in  my  heart  since 
there  I  saw  thee  last,  the  rice  plants  in  thy  hands, 


A    TEAR  UPON    A    SAUCER        363 

the  gentle  sunlight  on  thy  hair?  Nay,  Kiku  San, 
the  thought  is  far  from  new." 

"Yet  were  you  but  my  foster-brother  then,"  she 
replied  with  downcast  eyes.  "The  Daimyo  you 
were  'not." 

"Aye,  and  I  was,  Kiku  San,"  he  answered, 
"though  thou  and  I  knew  it  not.  The  love  that 
came  to  the  farmer's  son  is  in  the  same  heart  as 
in  the  heart  of  the  man  that  is  now  the  Daimyo. 
The  Daimyo  loves  as  the  farmer's  son  loved.  In 
such  things  all  men  are  equal,  for  the  little  that  is 
godlike  in  us  is  shared  equally  by  all  men,  prince 
or  peasant." 

Kiku  San  answered  nothing.  A  struggle  was 
going  on  within  her,  for  her  bosom  heaved,  her  eyes 
were  tear-sparkled. 

"Thou  dost  love  me,  Kiku  San,"  Rennoske  went 
on.  "Have  I  not  seen  the  signs?  Does  not  the 
cherry  blossom  and  the  nightingale's  song  tell  us 
that  spring  is  here?  Have  I  not  read  the  word  in 
thine  eyes,  have  I  not  seen  it  trembling  on  thy 
lips?  Thou  dost  love  me,  Kiku  San." 

"Aye,"  she  wailed,  rocking  gently  to  and  fro, 
"more  than  tongue  can  tell,  more  than  is  given  to 
the  gods  themselves.  There  can  be  no  harm  in 
telling  that." 

"Be  my  princess  then,"  he  whispered,  leaning 
close  to  her.  "Be  my  wife." 


364    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

"Your  princess!  Your  wife!"  she  sobbed. 
"Nay,  nay,  nay!  Are  you  blinded,  Prince  Ren- 
noske,  that  you  cannot  see  the  pitfall  that  lies  be- 
fore you  ?  Your  princess  —  your  wife  ?  Nay,  nay, 
it  cannot  be!" 

"And  why  not,  Gentlest  Flower?"  he  answered. 
"What  is  there  to  prevent?" 

"A  towering  mountain,  an  endless  sea,  a  whirling, 
spanless  torrent,"  she  answered,  her  words  coming 
fast.  "What  am  I  but  a  peasant  girl?  Do  the 
people  wish  for  such  to  rule  over  them?  Will  the 
haughty  Samurai  bow  low  to  me  ?  To  prevent  — 
there  is  naught  to  sanction  but  our  love,  and  that 
prevails  not  among  the  high-born,  it  seems.  Do 
you  see  now?" 

"It  shall  prevail,"  he  answered  imperiously. 
"Thou  speakest  in  another's  words.  Thrice  hast 
thou  been  taken  from  me  —  it  shall  not  be  so  again. 
I  command  it!" 

The  light  of  hope  illumined  her  face  as  he  spoke. 
He  commanded  her  —  he  was  the  Daimyo  —  she 
must  obey.  But  the  hope  was  soon  drowned  by 
another  thought. 

"It    is    too    late,    your    supreme    highness,"    she 
moaned. 
.  "Too  late!     What  meanest  thou?" 

Her  words  came  with  a  terrible  effort. 

"  Yukitaka  —  he  is  even  now  in  the  Land  of  the 


A    TEAR    UPON    A    SAUCER        365 

Purple  Lotus,  where  he  sues  the  Daimyo  there  for 
the  hand  of  his  daughter  in  marriage  to  thee.  I 
promised  him  I  would  not  tell,  but  even  in  that 
have  I  bungled!" 

"Bungled?"  he  cried,  springing  to  his  feet. 
"Gods  of  my  ancestors,  it  is  he  who  hath  bungled! 
Wives,  wives,  wives!  Am  I  to  have  them  thrust 
down  my  throat  like  fish  into  a  cormorant!  Am  I, 
the  Daimyo,  to  be  made  the  shuttlecock  of  fate  by 
a  doddering  old  fool? 

"First  it  is  the  Princess  Misono  San  —  she  tries 
to  slay  me.  Then  when  I  find  again  the  love  of  my 
life,  she  is  snatched  away  from  me  by  this  dreamer 
of  fine  ways  and  soft  manners.  But  it  shall  not  be 
—  by  Inari  I  swear  it!" 

Rennoske  of  the  house  of  the  Red  River  ran 
madly  down  the  gravel  path,  flanked  by  the  hya- 
cinths, leaving  Kiku  San  to  drop  a  tear  into  the 
saucer  she  had  painted  in  the  shoji  by  the  Pond  of 
the  Lilies. 


Chapter  XXX 

What  Said  the  "Tapper  of 
Laquer  Trees 

IT  was  even  as  Kiku  San  had  said. 
Yukitaka  had  been  gone  a  week  now  to  the 
Purple  Lotus  country  to  sue  the  Daimyo  Kotara 
for  the  hand  of  his  daughter  in  marriage.     Rennoske 
wasted  no  time  in  sending  his  swiftest  runners  in 
pursuit  of  the  old  student,  with  orders  to  bring  him 
back  at  any  cost. 

The  situation  was  more  serious  than  it  appeared 
to  be  at  first  glance.  Supposing  Yukitaka  reached 
the  Daimyo  of  Katsu  and  Nokodate  and  obtained  his 
consent?  Could  Rennoske  turn  and  say  he  did  not 
want  his  daughter? 

The  Daimyo  of  the  Purple  Lotus  had  helped  him 
regain  his  throne.  Feudal  lords  of  old  Japan  brooked 
no  such  affronts.  War  would  inevitably  follow,  and 
Rennoske,  with  untried  men  at  his  back  and  no 
spirit  in  the  fight,  felt  as  though  he  would  fare  badly. 

He  sat  at  his  usual  place  on  the  tiger-skin,  under 


TAPPER  OF  LAQUER  TREES  367 

the  canopy  of  brocaded  velvet,  trying  to  evolve 
some  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  A  million  curses 
on  the  head  of  old  Yukitaka  for  his  well-meaning 
yet  tangling  interference!  Try  as  he  might,  there 
was  no  way  clear  to  him  —  he  was  hopelessly  en- 
meshed in  the  student's  hope-destroying  plans  for 
his  welfare. 

He  rose  and  paced  the  floor,  lip  between  thumb 
and  forefinger.  Laughter  came  from  the  garden, 
where  the  silk-clad  courtiers  listened  to  a  troupe  of 
traveling  story-tellers. 

There  was  no  laughter  for  Rennoske  that  day,  nor 
had  there  been  in  this  week  of  soul-rending  suspense 
that  had  passed  since  his  last  talk  with  Kiku.  He 
had  purposely  avoided  the  girl,  for  he  feared  that 
the  sight  of  her  would  only  make  keener  the  mind 
torture  he  was  undergoing. 

No,  there  seemed  no  way  out  of  it,  unless  old 
Yukitaka  was  overtaken.  His  life's  happiness  de- 
pended then  on  the  fleetness  of  his  messengers. 
Gods!  how  he  longed  to  climb  to  the  highest  moun- 
tain peak  and  with  a  voice  of  thunder  cry  down  to 
them:  "Isoge!  Isoge!" 

The  laughter  outside  had  died  down  and  a  deep 
murmur  of  the  men's  voices  came  instead. 

"We  had  best  tell  his  supreme  highness,"  he 
heard  one  say.  "This  is  indeed  weighty  news." 

He  longed  to  dispense  with  these  grave  bows  as 


368     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

the  two  nobles  entered  to  find  him  standing  by  the 
lavender  alcove. 

"There  comes  a  merchant  with  news  of  deep 
note,"  said  the  first.  "We  thought  we  might  dare 
to  interrupt  your  serene  meditations  and  tell  your 
supreme  highness." 

"Admit  the  man,  then,"  snapped  Rennoske 
impatiently. 

More  profound  bows  as  the  begoggled,  mud- 
spattered  man  came  in.  Gods!  would  he  not  speak 
and  have  done  with  this  bobbing? 

"What  wouldst  thou  say  to  the  prince?"  said 
Rennoske,  controlling  himself.  "Grave  news  should 
not  pause  upon  the  brink  —  but  over  with  the  fall. 
Rise  and  speak,  good  sir." 

"I  am  Ginnaku,  a  merchant  of  silver,"  the  man 
faltered.  "  I  took  the  road  from  Boruku  to  Yama  Ino 
because  I  feared  to  trust  my  apprentice,  who  hath 
seemed  rather  wild  of  late.  But  gods  of  my  ances- 
tors, methought  I  would  ne'er  reach  my  destination, 
for  all  the  way  from  Takenaka  to  the  Obigawa's 
banks  the  road  swarmed  with  angry  peasants! 

"They  seemed  distraught  and  asked  me  strange 
questions  about  your  supreme  highness's  marriage. 
There  is  naught  so  odd  in  that,  except  that  they  said 
they  came  here  to  the  palace  to  right  some  wrong 
they  had  suffered  at  your  hands. 

"All  the  night  have  I  stumbled  along  the  river- 


TAPPER  OF  LAQUER  TREES  369 

bank  to  outdistance  them,  but  they  were  ever  along 
the  way,  sleeping.  I  knew  not  if  your  supreme 
highness  knew  of  their  presence,  and  so  thought  to 
tell  you.  I  hope  I  have  not  angered  you  by  being 
the  bearer  of  stale  news." 

"Indeed,  no,"  answered  Rennoske,  interested  yet 
disappointed.  "How  many  were  they,  O  Ginnaku, 
thinkest  thou?" 

"There  might  be  any  number  from  two  to  three 
hundred,  0  highness.  It  was  hard  to  tell  in  the 
darkness,  and  I  do  not  see  so  well." 

"It  is  enough,  O  Ginnaku,"  Rennoske  replied. 
Then  turning  to  the  other  two:  "See  that  this  man  is 
rested,  fed,  and  sent  upon  his  way  with  a  safe  guard. 
Then  leave  me  to  myself." 

Here  was  a  new  thorn  in  his  side!  Another  up- 
rising, and  why?  To  right  a  wrong  at  his  hands? 
In  what  way  had  he  wronged  them?  Could  they 
mean  Misono  San?  Was  she  alive  and  stirring 
them  against  him  ?  There  was  talk  of  his  marriage 
—  that  must  be  it.  Was  the  baron's  prophecy  of 
continued  strife  true,  then? 

There  was  a  council  in  the  room  of  the  red  velvet 
canopy  that  afternoon.  The  Samurai  were  for  arm- 
ing and  going  out  to  crush  what  was  evidently  a 
rebellion.  They,  some  bearing  the  scars  of  peasant 
weapons,  were  in  favor  of  nipping  such  a  thing  in 
the  bud. 


370    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

But  Rennoske,  who  had  been  peasant-raised  to  his 
throne  and  knew  the  men  with  whom  he  had  to  deal, 
ventured  a  different  opinion. 

"I  know  no  cause  for  discontent,"  he  said  to  the 
ring  of  nobles  about  him.  "These  men  come  to 
have  me  right  a  wrong,  whatever  that  wrong  may  be. 
Shall  we  again  drench  our  fair  land  in  blood  by 
meeting  them  with  the  sharp  edge  of  our  sword? 
Nay,  Saimyoy  let  us  first  argue  the  matter." 

"Argue  with  peasants?"  cried  one,  more  bitter 
than  the  rest.  "It  is  hardly  meet,  O  prince.  Speech 
and  the  ways  of  speech  become  them  not." 

"Yet  I  am  from  them  and  should  know,"  answered 
Rennoske. 

"Shall  we  wait  here  till  they  come  upon  us,  then?" 
asked  one  who  learned  to  honor  and  respect  the  word 
of  his  prince. 

"Nay,"  Rennoske  answered.  "I  shall  go  out  to 
meet  them,  for  they  are  my  children." 

A  sullen  roar  of  protest  was  his  answer.  He  would 
have  insisted,  but  there  was  some  policy  in  listening. 

"Then  let  any  number  of  you  up  to  ten  go  out  and 
meet  them.  Tell  them  to  choose  from  their  number 
one  who  is  best  able  to  plead  their  cause.  Tell  them 
that  the  Prince  Rennoske  meets  him  alone  and  un- 
armed where  he  last  spoke  to  them  a  peasant.  If 
the  men  are  of  my  people,  they  will  understand. 
This  will  I  do?  this  do  I  say,  your  Daimyo" 


TAPPER  OF  LAQUER  TREES  371 

Five  of  the  Samurai  agreed  to  go,  three  of  them 
being  formerly  of  the  victorious  peasant  army.  It 
was  late  afternoon  when  they  left.  Rennoske  spent 
room-pacing  hours  in  their  absence  filled  with  many 
vague  misgivings  as  to  the  cause  of  this  uprising. 

Why,  too,  did  not  his  messengers  return?  Had 
Yukitaka  been  successful  after  all?  There  was  labor 
and  thankless  toil  in  being  the  son  of  a  farmer, 
lurking  death  and  ever-present  danger  in  the  life  of 
a  generalissimo  of  rebellious  peasants,  yet  it  was  far 
from  peace  and  serenity  to  be  a  Daimyo,  even  though 
surrounded  by  clanking  knights  and  silken  hangings. 
It  was  not  all  ease  to  sit  upon  a  tiger-skin  rug  before 
a  crimson  velvet  canopy  brocaded  with  threads  of 
silver  and  gold. 

Midnight  saw  the  return  of  the  five  knights.  One 
of  them  bore  the  message: 

"Where  the  helmet  of  the  man  they  called  'Little 
Warrior'  fell  asunder  and  the  Prince  Rennoske  knew 
himself.  In  the  first  full  light  of  the  sun,  there  will 
a  man  he  knows,  alone  and  unarmed,  meet  the 
Daimyo." 

Rennoske  slept  but  little  that  night.  Somehow 
he  felt  that  the  sun  of  this  coming  day  would  shine 
upon  his  fate.  The  thought  of  what  that  fate  might 
be  racked  his  brain  more  than  the  hated  malady  of 
the  past  had  ever  done. 

With  the  first  stroke  of  dawn  he  rose  and  bathed 


372    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

in  the  garden,  donned  clean  linen  and  the  kimono 
of  crimson  with  the  crimson  sash.  Alone  and 
unarmed  he  trod  the  gravel  path  past  the  palace, 
while  the  dim  light  shone  upon  the  opening  flowers 
and  full-blooming  morning  glories. 

He  passed  the  grove  of  camphor  trees,  whose  leaves 
were  just  taking  on  the  first  light  of  the  sunrise. 
Below,  the  slope  rolled  away;  where  the  ground 
looked  like  motionless  waves  of  the  sea,  the  winding 
river  gleamed  among  the  waving  green  grass.  The 
pennons  of  the  anchored  barge  by  the  stone  quay 
fluttered  in  a  faint  breeze. 

As  Rennoske  took  the  path  down  the  hill,  he  saw 
another  figure  toiling  up.  It  was  too  far  to  dis- 
tinguish, yet  the  man  was  plainly  old,  for  his  back 
bent  low  as  he  picked  his  steps. 

The  man  turned  to  his  left  from  the  path  and  stood 
waiting.  Rennoske  quickened  his  pace  and  came 
on  down.  Within  thirty  feet  of  where  the  man 
stood,  the  prince  knew  that  this  was  indeed  where 
his  helmet  had  fallen,  cleft  by  the  Black  Boar's 
sword. 

The  man,  catching  sight  of  Rennoske,  fell  face 
downward  upon  the  ground  and  lay  thus  until  the 
prince's  voice  bade  him  rise.  He  rose  slowly  and 
painfully.  In  the  first  full  light  of  the  sun  Rennoske 
looked  upon  the  face  of  the  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees ! 

"Thou!"  Rennoske  cried.    "What  grievance  hast 


TAPPER  OF  LAQUER  TREES  373 

thou  against  me,  reverend  sir,  that  thou  shouldst 
bring  the  farmer  from  his  fields  and  the  woodman 
from  his  ax?" 

"No  grievance  at  all,  your  supreme  highness," 
the  man  answered.  "I  am  but  the  mouthpiece  of 
many,  and  it  is  but  a  boon  we  crave." 

"Anything  that  I  can  grant  I  will,"  Rennoske 
replied.  "  But  for  the  reason  that  thou  it  is  who  art 
the  mouthpiece,  for  well  and  faithful  hast  thou  served 
me,  and  I  have  taken  from  thee  much.  How  knewest 
thou  this  spot?" 

The  man  answered,  smiling: 

"Does  not  every  true  heart  that  fought  with  you 
know  it?  Are  there  not  many  who  are  happy  to 
show  it  to  one  who  craved  long  to  see?" 

Rennoske  was  deeply  touched  at  the  man's 
devotion.  It  was  some  moments  before  he  could 
speak  again. 

"And  what  is  the  boon  my  children  crave?" 

"You  must  first  forgive  us  for  daring  to  meddle  in 
the  business  of  your  supreme  highness,"  the  man 
began  boldly.  "But  it  hath  come  to  us  through  an 
accident  that  you  were  to  be  joined  in  marriage  to 
the  daughter  of  the  Daimyo  Kotara.  He  who  plans 
thus,  thinks  in  his  mind,  no  doubt,  that  yonder 
Daimyo  is  old  and  will  soon  die,  and  therefore  you 
will  be  the  inheritor  of  his  kingdom,  he  having  as  yet 
no  son.  Thus  will  you  be  a  great  shogun  of  this 


374    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

and  his  two  kingdoms.  The  plan  is  wise  and  well 
laid,  yet  are  there  drawbacks. 

"Perhaps  you  die — which  the  gods  forbid.  Per- 
haps the  Daimyo  of  the  Purple  Lotus  is  crafty  and, 
having  you  in  his  power  through  his  daughter, 
will  encroach  upon  our  lands.  Through  either  way, 
would  it  be  he  and  not  you  who  would  be  the  mighty 
shogun  ?  " 

"There  is  much  reason  in  what  you  say,"  Ren- 
noske  answered,  seeing  words  of  hope  in  the  man's 
message. 

"Birth  hath  given  you  a  throne,"  the  Tapper  of 
Laquer  Trees  went  on,  his  voice  vibrating  with 
feeling,  "yet  who  was  it  that  placed  you  there? 
Not  the  silk-clad  Saimyo  or  the  clanking  Samurai. 
We,  with  our  sweat  and  blood,  have  done  it. 

"We  thought  you  but  one  of  us  whom  Heaven 
hath  inspired  —  it  was  our  desire  that  you  rule  us. 
It  transpires  that  one  of  us  you  are  not;  but  the 
heaven-born  Daimyo,  whom  the  gods  have  ever 
protected. 

"Glad  we  are  that  this  is  so.  Glad  we  are  for 
every  blessed  moment  you  have  spent  with  us. 
Where  is  the  man  among  us  who  does  not  boldly 
show  the  wounds  he  got  while  in  your  service  ?  It  is 
but  just  due  to  him  who  took  the  yoke  from  our 
necks." 

Rennoske  held  up  his  hand. 


TAPPER  OF  LAQUER  TREES  375 

"It  is  enough,  reverend  sir.  Ask  thy  boon  and 
I  will  grant  it,  nor  haggle  over  it,  for  thou  hast  served 
me  more  than  any  man  but  one." 

"It  is  our  wish,  then,"  the  man  went  on,  "that  you 
rule  us  many  years.  We  crave,  too,  that  you  marry 
not  the  daughter  of  the  Purple  Lotus  house,  but 
choose  a  princess  from  among  the  people  as  a  token 
of  good  faith." 

"A  princess  from  among  the  people!"  Rennoske 
fairly  screamed  the  words  with  joy.  "Of  all  things, 
thou  shouldst  ask  this,  hei!" 

He  made  a  flying  leap  at  the  Tapper  of  Laquer 
Trees,  caught  him  by  his  broad  shoulders,  and  shook 
him  out  of  pure  excess  of  glee. 

The  man  cowered  and  whimpered: 

"I  take  back  the  words.  Slay  me  for  saying  them. 
I  have  offended.  Give  me  but  time  to  bid  my  men 
tell  the  counselor  to  go  upon  his  way,  for  you  are 
displeased." 

"What  counselor?" 

"The  man,  Yukitaka." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"We  hold  him  prisoner,  for  his  litter  bearers 
babbled  the  news  and  said  it  was  of  his  own  doing 
that  he  went  to  fetch  you  a  bride!" 

Daimyos  are  supposed  to  be  dignified,  sedate  per- 
sonages, seated  under  brocaded  canopies  or  walking 
in  beautiful  gardens,  surrounded  by  clanking  knights, 


376     THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

silken  courtiers,  and  fair  ladies.  The  Tapper  of 
Laquer  Trees  had  heard  this  many  a  time. 

What  was  his  astonishment  on  seeing  the  Daimyo 
before  him,  and  a  Daimyo  he  knew  he  was,  pick  up 
the  skirts  of  his  crimson  kimono,  kick  up  his  legs, 
slap  his  thighs,  kick  again,  laughing  and  chuckling, 
bobbing  up  and  down  like  a  silly  boy  at  sight  of  his 
first  kite. 

"Hei!"  this  Daimyo  shouted  between  roars  and 
chuckles,  "he  is  a  prisoner  —  held  up  by  peasants, 
this  dreamer  of  fine  ways  and  manners!  Have  him 
ducked  in  the  river,  reverend  sir,  make  his  face  black 
with  ink,  tie  a  fish  to  his  pigtail,  and  chase  him  into 
the  sea!  Stopped  by  my  peasants  —  hei —  hei! 
The  great  Yukitaka  —  the  Wise  Owl  —  hei!  Stop 
my  mouth,  reverend  sir,  or  I  shall  die  of  laughing!" 

The  Tapper  of  Laquer  Trees  turned  down  the  hill. 
All  three  of  these  ridiculous  orders  might  have  been 
carried  out  on  the  old  student  of  the  mountains  if 
Rennoske  had  not  stopped  his  merriment. 

"Nay,  reverend  sir,  I  did  but  jest.  Have  the 
counselor  return  to  me  and  I  will  deal  with  him  — 
the  old,  stalking  heron,  the  squawking  cormorant ! " 
He  changed  the  tone  of  his  levity  to  a  command: 
"Tell  my  children  that  the  Prince  Rennoske,  of  the 
house  of  the  Red  River,  their  Daimyo,  marries  a 
sister  to  them  with  the  waning  of  the  moon." 

"Then  we  must  choose  — " 


TAPPER  OF  LAQUER  TREES  377 

"Nay,  I  have  already  chosen.  She  is  the  fairest 
chrysanthemum  in  the  garden,  the  only  daughter  of 
the  Farmer  of  the  Three  Wells,"  Rennoske  answered, 
happiness  beaming  on  his  face. 

Rennoske  skirted  the  trees  and  almost  at  a  run 
came  upon  the  shoji  by  the  Pond  of  the  Lilies.  The 
door  slid  back  gently  at  his  tap  and  the  old  nurse's 
face  appeared  in  the  opening. 

"She  rests,  your  supreme  highness,"  the  woman 
said  softly.  "It  is  a  good,  healthful  sleep,  and  she 
must  needs  come  out  of  it  rested  in  both  mind  and 
body.  She  talked  some  in  her  sleep  —  something 
she  hath  learned  by  heart.  She  is  worn  and  weary, 
poor  chick!" 

"Yet  I  would  see  her,"  Rennoske  insisted.  "I 
will  not  wake  her,  only  sit  and  watch.  I  have  that 
to  tell  her  that  will  make  her  strong  and  well  again 
when  her  wound  heals." 

The  woman  slid  back  the  door  and  left  him.  He 
looked  to  the  right  of  it  and  there,  in  the  yellow  light 
of  the  sun  that  shone  opalescent  through  the  paper, 
lay  Kiku  San. 

Her  pretty  little  head  was  pillowed  on  the  sleeve 
of  the  purple  kimono.  Her  raven  hair  shone 
silky.  The  woman  was  right,  it  was  the  deep 
sleep  of  returning  health.  Slowly  he  bent  over 
her  and  whispered  close  to  her  eyelids:  "Gentlest 
Flower!" 


378    THE    TURN    OF    THE    SWORD 

Her  lips  moved  and  formed  words,  though  she  still 
slept.  He  bent  closer  and  listened. 

"When  the  sun  shines  golden  on  the  rice  fields, 
when  the  moon  of  autumn  turns  the  spray  of  the 
mountain  torrent  into  a  thousand  tiny  rubies  —  when 
the  heron  flies  across  the  sea  and  the  air  is  sweet  with 
the  salt  and  the  seaweed  —  when  the  soft  spring 
rain  scatters  the  petals  of  the  cherry  blossoms  — 
when  the  chrysanthemums  nod,  red,  yellow,  and 
purple  in  the  November  breeze  —  then  will  I  think 
of  thee,  O  Kiku  San." 

He  knew  they  were  his  own  words,  spoken  the  day 
he  had  seen  her  before  he  left  his  foster-father's 
house. 

The  door  slid  back  and  a  shadow  darkened  the 
matting.  Rennoske  looked  up.  It  was  Yukitaka. 

"It  seems  I  have  displeased  you,"  whined  the  old 
student,  the  expression  on  his  face  like  a  guilty  puppy. 
"I  am  here  to  offer  my  much-offending  head." 

"Hush!"  the  Prince  Rennoske  whispered,  holding 
up  his  hand  to  silence  him.  "Who  talks  of  tumbling 
heads?  Wilt  wake  the  princess?" 

"The  princess?     Why,  what  means  — " 

"Silence  —  thou  bungler  ever!  Dost  thou  not 
see  Kiku  San  sleeps?" 


A     000129212     7 


